Just Us Boyz
by Chamomile Pool
Summary: The almost slice-of-life adventures of Yomotsu Hirasaka and Yuri Petrov. 12th and Lunatic become housemates in docile Graceville, USA.
1. Henshin Life, Death of Thanatos

Chapter 1 – Henshin Life / Death of Thanatos

Graceville, June 14th. Halfway down Germaine Avenue, a sky blue house sat. The lawn was well-kempt, lush and green. The space was decorated by a garden of foxgloves, delphiniums, and cornflowers, on each side of the door.

On the front steps sat Yomotsu Hirasaka. He wore a long sleeve, blue shirt, under which a sliver of white could just be seen peeking out. He reached his slender fingers down, past his neck, and retrieved from inside a small package of some sort. As he held it in his right hand, his left hand was on his knee, touching the black denim he had chosen to wear this morning.

The package in his hand was, in fact, one of six pieces of fruit leather, individually wrapped (not for individual sale) that he had purchased from the nearby grocery store. At $2.00 per box, on advertised special, it was a true bargain. He looked to his left suddenly, and then to his right—in the direction of a waving neighbor—and then set his eyes once again upon what was in his hand. He rushed his right hand from his knee and shredded the packaging, careful not to injure the precious leather all the while, and discarded it into his pants pocket.

He bit into the leather, pulled at it a little, and nibbled on the piece that was torn off. With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes. Darkness: the familiar coating that wrapped the day and the night. It was this in this dark world that Yomotsu saw the black and the white, the evil and the righteous. He gnawed on the fruit leather. Cherry. He heard around him the chirping of the birds, which he could identity each by name off just their calls. There was the sound of daily human life, including the whizzing by of early afternoon traffic.

A subtle noise subsided; Yomotsu's ears perked. He shoved the rest of the fruit leather into his mouth and made quick work of it. A car was pulling into the driveway. He calculated that, based off the sound of its approach, as well as the gentle fade of its parking, that it was a luxury vehicle, on the heavier side—he did not quite guess that it was a Rolls-Royce Phantom, but had he guessed that, he would have been spot on.

The door was opened and shut. "That is quite an expensive ride, for someone who lives with his mother," Yomotsu called. "It is best to drive something less conspicuous. There is great danger in drawing excess attention to oneself."

He rose to his feet and, leaning forward slightly in posture, heard the steady approach of an impressive gentleman. Were he able to see him, Yomotsu would have caught witness of a tall man in a grey suit, with an elegant stride and a highly controlled expression. He brought his hand out, to brush the long strands of grey hair out of his eyes, the color of which was brought out so fiercely by the accent of his tie.

"I only used to live with my mother," the man corrected, as he stopped. "But, not all things are so constant as the moon. Some things change. That is the nature of this, correct?"

A light smile flirted upon the other's face. "Welcome to America, Yuri Petrov," he said, extended his hand. It was seized firmly and given a strong shake.

"Thank you, Yomotsu," appeared the response. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, at long last."

"The same goes to you!" Yomotsu said, as their hands broke free from the other's. "Let's take this inside. Follow me, to your new home." He turned and, with a triumphant grasp, turned the handle of his front door—only to find it stubbornly refusing to budge. He cleared his throat and once more gave the door knob a mighty turn, only this time to break the entire doorknob off.

He coughed and then, turning back to the waiting Yuri, suggested, "We can enter through the garage. I have the opener, and I actually need to park my vehicle, anyway!" He slipped his hand into his pocket and, after bypassing the fruit leather wrapper, brought into the light his keychain. On the shiny ring were a few keys and a small black circle with a few buttons on it. He pressed one, and the double door garage connected to the house began to open up.

Yuri glanced around, noticing that there was only one vehicle standing before the entirely empty garage—and that vehicle was his own bulky, luxury vehicle. "I thought you said you had to park your vehicle," he remarked, turning his head back.

"Oh, just you wait!" Yomotsu said, pressing another button on the keychain. He chuckled and pointed down the road. "It is on the way!"

Yuri squinted his eyes, and in a few seconds, they were made wide. A motorcycle of sorts approached—coming out of the front was a red and gold lightning bolt. Coming up from the bottom and extending above the seat were two more lightning bolts of the same variety, one on each side, both at stretched to the way back. The rest was black; even in the daylight, the rims were flashing red. "Quick as a bolt from the heavens," Yomotsu fired up, "I introduce to you: the Righteous Tsunami!"

The vehicle turned seamlessly into the driveway, maintaining its fast speed up until the very point it came to a screeching halt inside the garage. Yuri, glancing at the black trail left behind, remarked, "I thought you warned me about drawing 'excess attention' to myself."

Yomotsu, almost appearing as though not to have heard him, leapt down the stairs and bolted into the garage. Yuri, after taking in a deep breath, entered his Phantom and started it up. As he slid it gently into the garage, he caught sight of Yomotsu taking a sponge and gently cleaning each inch of the motorcycle, until it reflected his own visage in the front lightning bolt.

With the Phantom taking up a large space in the garage, Yuri brought himself one last time out of the vehicle, with the full intention of not returning to it for some time. He did not want to say anything just yet, but he really was not in a rush to sit down once more inside. That is why when, as he was urged to sit down at the black dinner table, he displayed his mild displeasure in full upon his face. He knew already that there it would not be noticed. So long as he controlled the tone, the other in the house would be none the wiser.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Yomotsu called, from the kitchen. Yuri blinked hard and, keeping his eyes fixed on the placemat in front of him, said impassively, "A tall glass of pinot noir." He was more concerned about why on earth the placemat was pink with yellow smiley faces all over the place. All four placemats on the table were like that, so atrocious in design.

"Uhhhhhhhh, I'm afraid I'm out of that," Yomotsu answered.

After a moment, Yuri said, "Fine. Any wine will suffice."

There was some cluttering in the kitchen, but Yuri did not care enough to bother looking up, to see what the racket was about. He leaned interlocked his fingers and nestled his face into his hands. There was a look of serious contemplation.

"Uhhhhhh, I don't have any wine."

Yuri, with his eyes closed, asked in monotone, "Do you have any… grape juice?"

The clutter in the kitchen stopped. The sound of the fridge opening could be heard, followed by Yomotsu saying, "I do not have any grape juice." The fridge could be heard closing.

Yuri let his hands fall to the table, and he looked up sharply. "I want something with grapes!" He said, crisply, "Anything with grapes will do. Anything. Just give me something with grapes."

Yomotsu scrambled to re-open the fridge, and he pulled out a can. "I have grape Fanta~!" He held with an unsteady hand, up high, so that Yuri may gaze upon it.

"…Alright," Yuri responded, glancing past Yomotsu for a moment, fixed on something in the distance. When the Fanta was quickly placed in front of him, however, he shook away the distraction and took to opening the can.

Yomotsu took the seat on the opposite end of the table. He folded his hands on top of the pink placemat full of smiley faces and aimed his blind glance straight at Yuri. "It goes without saying that I am delighted that you took such an interest in my offer," he started. "When I put up that page, I was admittedly curious what sort of person it would attract. I had no doubts that someone would accept. I had a very reliable source confirm that this was to be the future. However—you are a very interesting person, from what you told me already! What made you look into this place?"

Yuri smiled and returned the glance. "The specifics of your offer caught my attention," he explained, "Not many openings for rental require that the future occupant 'must have his own code of justice.' I was also interested in this location. A quiet, simple town—and your offer was affordable and had the proper location."

Yomotsu raised a curious eyebrow. "Who drives a car like his and is worried about the cost?" He thought to himself. "And by proper location, what does he mean? We're right next to a prison." With a shake of his head, he discarded the thoughts. Shifting his weight, he leaned his right elbow hard on the table and rested his head on the back of his hand. The other arm relaxed, his fingers tapping the table lightly one-by-one.

"You had an excellent job at Sternbild's Administration of Justice," Yomotsu resumed. "Why would you leave, just to come to a quiet town in the United States?"

Yuri raised his Fanta and, as the cold can of the rim touched his lips, smiled. He drank some before setting the can back down and answering, "I wanted a complete change of pace." He looked at Yomotsu, and slowly once more past his head. "A complete change of pace in every way. By the way, why is there a giant eyeball mask on top of the kitchen counter?"

Yomotsu, who still was resting his head upon the back of his hand, turned a lighter shade of pale. He whirled his head back, and sure enough, there was a massive mask just sitting there, by the toaster. He got up from his chair abruptly and rushed into the kitchen. He rolled up the mask into his hands and, while holding it against his chest with one hand, flung open a cupboard with the other. "What mask?" Yomotsu asked, as shoved it inside. "I see no mask." He slammed the cupboard shut and calmly returned to his seat. As he straightened out his posture in the chair, he couldn't conceal his rapid breaths.

"This is going to be quite a change for the both of us," Yuri remarked, in another tone. "I have lived in a very dangerous city for many years, with my mother. I have not lived with anyone else in a very long time, but I'm optimistic." The corner of his lip twitched upward, and he narrowed in on Yomotsu's curious expression. "Who knows—maybe we'll find that we have a lot more in common than it might seem."

"Or," Yomotsu said, waving his finger in the air, "One of us might slip in the bathroom and die."

Yuri sat motionless.

"Most household accidents occur in the bathroom," Yomotsu added, as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly. "That is why I have very soft carpet in the bathroom, in case we fall."

Yuri scowled. "That's disgusting," he remarked, pressing his fingers hard into the table. "That would be a pain to clean! Tile flooring is superior for bathrooms."

"Anything can be cleaned, if one puts forth the proper effort!" Yomotsu was quick to respond. He reached across the table and sipped some of Yuri's Fanta. "The only thing that cannot is a dirty criminal. Those who are evil can never triumph."

He sighed and, placing the Fanta back on the other side of the table, resumed, "But I agree completely, Mr. Petrov. This is a change for me, as well. I have lived in this house alone for six months now, but unfortunately, my previous line of work was not very lucrative… And so I think we will be of use to each other. Life is full of constant transformations. What something is in the light can be something very different in the darkness."

Yuri burned his eyes into Yomotsu, analyzing him, trying to pry into his psyche.

Yomotsu, scratching his ear, concluded, "And that is why I keep nightlights in the hallways, so I don't have to trip on things any more. It has really helped."

* * *

A bare blue wall was Yuri's support. His back was against the light color, one foot brought in, so that his right arm could rest on his arched knee. The other leg was stretched out to the bed. He had discarded his suit for a loose brown t-shirt and shorts. He had this pair of shorts—well, five of the same pair—that he often liked to wear to sleep. They went a little past his knee and white with little demon duckies all over.

The carpet was white, and it appeared to have just been cleaned that same day. In Yuri's eyes, the light from the moon shone. The room's sole window was currently the perfect instrument through which the great moon could work its brilliance.

Yuri was supposed to have inherited the entire basement. When he brought the question up with Yomotsu, he first dodged it, then later admitted that it was not ready yet. Yuri tried to remember his exact words: "It will take at least one week for me to have it all ready, but once it is complete, you will know how cool I am." Yuri took that to heart, and accepted having to live in the spare bedroom upstairs in the mean time.

The belongings he had brought with him—what he could stuff into the trunk of his Phantom—sat against the wall opposite the foot of the bed. He drew his eyes left, towards them, and then looked back at the bed itself. Yomotsu actually had a normal bedspread in the closet, which Yuri insisted on throwing on in place of what had originally been set out for him. For some reason, he was not as enthusiastic about the Power Rangers setup as his housemate was.

He leaned forward and rubbed his brow with his right hand. "I'm a long way from home, mother," he murmured. His eyes were shadowed by his hand, but he kept them silently open. "I wonder now if you see what he really was like. I wonder if you finally understand now, what I went through, this whole time. I'd like to think, that there's a place where you'll come to understand, if you couldn't understand before—somewhere, I hope there's a place. I don't need you to agree with me or love me. I need you to simply _understand_."

The hand dropped, and he pushed his whole body forward. In a moment he was cross-legged, staring fixedly at one of the suitcases against the wall. "My eyes remain forever open," he whispered, "But I must look away. I still hear the voice of Thanatos, but I must consider him dead. I must cover my ears. I left Sternbild in trustworthy hands. The moon and what it represents… no longer concerns me."

He got up and approached the window. With each step he took toward it, the images through it became more and more clear. When he was a few steps away, he could make out the shapes of figures across the street. A step closer, and the figures were striking another figure, which was laying on the sidewalk. He saw that they were young, after another step, teenagers, trying to take advantage of a young woman. Yuri was at the door, and something was pulled from one of the men's coat pockets—Yuri pulled the curtains fiercely inward, to block out the scene, and threw himself upon the bed.

He lay on his side for some time. Five minutes, twenty minutes, possibly a quarter shy of an hour. He then, with silence, turned to his opposite side. He looked wide-eyed at the red curtain. Through the fabric, from his angle, he could see only one thing—the image of the red, full moon.


	2. Pajamas, Business Suit

Chapter 2 – Pajamas / Business Suit

For the first time in several years, Yuri Petrov woke up without the aid of an alarm clock. Back in his Sternbild home, he would promptly be woken up each morning at 6 am by a shrill beeping. The clock had two alarm settings: this beep or a radio alarm. When he first got the clock, he tried out the radio in the morning, but it failed to inspire him to get up. This was not too surprising, though, when Yuri thought more on it. He always kept his radio on the classical music station, and such music soothed the flames of his soul—not rouse him properly.

Nothing proved a better imperative for rising for the day so well as an annoying beep. It was such an ordinary part of his routine that, when Yuri found himself waking without it, he felt as though something were wrong internally. It was like that morning when he woke up, and his mother was not already up before him; it reminded him vaguely, in a sense he could not pinpoint but was still aware of subconsciously, of that morning she did not wake up. He missed the little, horrible beeping.

The clock had been taken with him, but like the rest of his few possessions, it remained opposite the food of the bed, against the wall. He wanted to go look in that direction, naturally, but the spot on which his side was laying felt far too warm for that. His thoughts drifted from that clock and its absence to a related matter, the question of how, if his clock was packed away still, he really could have woken up so clearly.

This was not a simple dreary, half-awake stupor—he literally felt like he was with enough awareness to give up. A few possibilities sprang to mind: perhaps his internal clock was wire just properly, or perhaps his body sensed some sort of danger and instinct had woken him. That seemed unlikely, when the only matter detected by his presence was the faint presence of music.

"Music?" He rose halfway, sitting upright on his bed, sheets still keeping his legs cozy. There was some sort of music playing—something fast, something energized. It was just through the wall. He could barely hear it at first, which was why he was quick to wonder how such a quiet sound could really have woken him.

"they've got a power…"

Yuri's eyebrows raised in new directions. There was definitely music playing nearby. He looked around the room. The sun was just waking up the town, and through the red curtain, it cast enough light for Yuri to see the details of the plain room. Nothing of interest was there to see, because nothing had changed from the night before, but the newfound clarity of vision was another reminder of how sudden and strong his waking had been.

"…force that you've never seen before"

He gently grabbed onto the sheets and flung them away. He pivoted himself and shifted his body, so his legs could hang over the bed. Through the noise, he could hear the music continue on, although the words were no longer so clear.

Yuri's feet touched the ground, and then his body stopped to listen further.

"to even out the score"

He scurried to the door and, half-hunched over in a cautious creep, seized the doorknob. He turned it, gently—

"no one can ever take them down the power lies on their side"

He flung the door open, and he ran toward the source. The guitar was shredding louder and louder as he neared an open room, a room connected to the dining room and kitchen.

"GO GO POWER RANGERS GO GO POWER RANGERS"

A large, flat screen television set and various gaming consoles within a wooden entertainment center was up against the corner to Yuri's left. A few feet away were two reddish couches, divided by a blue soft foot rest. These pieces of furniture formed a "V" shape, and on the couch most within Yuri's view, Yomotsu was sitting, at the edge of the seat.

"MIGHTY MORPHIN' POWER RANGERS"

Yuri now realized the frightening truth: the noise had been coming not just from the television set, but from Yomotsu himself. The man was singing along, this enthralled grin plastered on his face. Yuri scowled and let his eyes travel from the entertainment room to the dining room, where they had spent a portion of the prior day talking over Grape Fanta.

The dining room and entertainment room were open and connected by the same stretch of carpet. The dining room led into the kitchen, with its tile flooring; the three rooms were easily viewable from the front door.

"They know the fate of the world is lying in their hands," Yomotsu sang. "They know to only use their weapons for defense~"

Yuri looked back at Yomotsu. The television programming seemed normal. Even the singing along was bearable, for all that paled in comparison to what the man was wearing. Yomotsu's clean and typical clothes from the day before had given way to a complete, toe-to-neck black spandex suit. A belt was looped around his neck, and not just any belt; it looked like it had been pulled straight out of a Batman comic.

"Are those… your pajamas?"

Yomotsu turned at Yuri's remark. The former's hands were on his knees, and only his head turned his way. The rest of his body was far too engaged in watching Power Rangers to stir. The face that now recognized the housemate sported a clearly "o" shaped mouth and wide eyes.

With his mouth maintaining this circular form, Yomotsu answered, "I don this suit every night."

Yuri blinked. "Why?"

Yomotsu frowned. He then hardened his glance at Yuri and answered, "Precisely for the same reasons you wear those white shorts with devil duckies."

This response had an interest effect on Yuri. He flipped his hair and, looking past the man clad in spandex, began, "To separate the manifestations of the inner evils, portraying them against the stark holiness of the eternal guide—so that they, in knowing their solitude, may suffer before they quack their last quack."

Yuri coughed into his hand and then, looking down, continued, "So, I take it then, that yours too was a 'secret Santa' gift?"

Yomotsu nodded. "Yes," he responded. "This was the most furtive of gifts." He reached for the remote, which was on the footrest, with his left hand. Yomotsu paused the program and then, with the remote still in hand, turned his whole body around. He now sat cross-legged on the middle of the couch, looking up at Yuri, who was still at the opening to the hallway.

"The Sternbild Administration of Justice put on a little 'secret Santa' program years back," Yuri explained, eye's averting the other's unflinching glance. "I went a little over the price maximum, offering to one lucky soul a bottle of some of my finest wine… And in return, I received this pair of shorts. It's not that I like them so much, but rather, in meconium of the wine that was lost that day…"

"You need not explain any further!" Yomotsu waved his hand back and forth. Yuri took in a relieved breath of air. "I, too, have a special relationship with my pajamas." Yomotsu was smiling, but his eyes were watering now.

Yuri did not know whether to hug him or slap him or cry with him or bring him a Kleenex or just walk out of the house. As the first tears slid down Yomotsu's face, in between his audible sniffling, he cried out, "And at the thought of losing them, I—"

Yuri leaned his head back and, with his eyes closed, interrupted, "You need not explain any further…" He raised his hand. "For if you do…" His head turned away from Yomotsu. "For if you do, you might make me think of such thoughts, and that is most… unnecessary…"

Thus it was that, at 6 am on June 15th, two men in their thirties shared a quiet moment in tender fear that something should ever happen to their pajamas.

* * *

By eight, Yuri had put on a business suit. This did not go unnoticed by Yomotsu.

The latter, after finishing the recording of Power Rangers over a bowl of Trix cereal, had taken a shower, changed, and then retired to the dining room table. There he "read" the funnies in the day's Grace Gazette (laughing when he sensed it was appropriate) and tried to come up with alternate solutions to what he imagined the daily crossword puzzle's inquiries to be (a process that really entailed writing in answers in random places, where he just assumed there were spaces provided).

His complete attention on the paper, however, was brought to an end when Yuri appeared in a business suit. Of course, Yomotsu could not *see* the suit. He was blind, after all. However, it is a well-known fact that business suits have a very distinct sound to them—a sound that, for reasons of survival alone, Yomotsu had come to be able to detect straight-away.

"Mr. Hirasaka—"

"I forgave you on our first encounter, but twice you bring this upon yourself—" Yomotsu, with his shoulders hunched up, could not even look at him. He was so disgusted. It looked almost as though his head, reminiscent of a shy turtle's, might shrink totally into his red t-shirt. "It can't be mere coincidence!"

Yuri was about to take a seat across from Yomotsu, but he stopped halfway, choosing to lock himself in place instead. He did not want to get too close to a testy man who, in one hand, was holding up a rolled-up newspaper and, in the other, a clicky pen.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Yuri flatly asked, looking over at his housemate.

Now Yomotsu, appearing as though he might slam his hands down on the table, tensed up and turned his head toward Yuri. "You are wearing a business suit! Again!" That was all he thought necessary to say, regarding the matter. Clearly, when Yuri heard this, he should have come to an instant awareness of the grave wrong he had committed, yet somehow, this simple matter eluded his grasp.

"…So?"

"SO—" Yomotsu cleared his throat and placed the paper and pen down on the table. "SOOOOO, I think I clearly stated in the online advertisement that I would not tolerate cheats and liars."

"…I thought I was wearing my suit rather honestly…"

Yomotsu sighed. He realized now that Yuri was not opposing him out of bad intent; he was just stupid. He could forgive this. There was a gaping difference between willful disobedience and simple, even if unbelievable, ignorance. He explained, simply yet spitefully, "Only fiends wear such suits—politicians, lawyers, door-to-door salesmen. No righteous man wears a business suit unless he has to. Suits for leisure are another matter, but if my ears do not deceive me, your clothes are geared toward the personal profit from other men's naivety."

Yuri shook his head and, as one held held on to a cold can of grape Fanta, the other hand was outstretched, as though to stop a force behind him from breaking through. He cried out, "In Sternbild, I was in the highest judicial—"

"You steal men's souls!"

"—but I fought for the protection of all and—"

"And make them your slaves!"

"Now, please, Mr. Hirasaka, is that—"

"Mankind ill needs a business suit such as yours."

"Oh, but enough of your talk!" Yuri brought his outstretched hand toward his chest, tightening his fingers into a fist. "Have at you!" With his fist to his chest, the other hand opened into an automatic gesture—what was intended to be an accusatory point at the subject of his threat. However, along with this motion, the object previously in his hand was released.

His finger was pointed straight at Yomotsu, but the latter noticed that not. What he was so acutely aware of was the can of grape Fanta that had been launched into the air. He could see it within the confines of his mind—the crisp and refreshing drink, spiraling madly through the air, destined to spill its lifeblood all over the clean carpet that stretched between the entertainment room and dining room.

Yomotsu swiftly dove from his chair and, too quickly for Yuri's full comprehension, took the hit in place of the floor. The can was seized by Yomotsu's hands, but given the way he fell, there was no avoiding that some of it would spill out before he was able to steady his grip—as a result, between the time Yomotsu was able to land and when he had first grabbed the can, the purple soda pop had spilled over his red t-shirt.

The results spread from right below his collar down toward the bottom. A bit of it even got on his jeans. Yomotsu found himself now sitting upright, can in hand. He ignored the wetness against his chest for now, and instead, he felt the carpet with his hands. Not a drop of extra moisture. He chuckled.

"You may ask yourself, Mr. Petrov," Yomotsu started up, as he rose to his feet, "How can he be so carefree, when he just got soda pop spilled all over the front of his clothes?" Yomotsu placed the can on one of the table's pink and yellow placemats. "I tell you, the answer is simple: this shirt was on the discount rack, but if I had been wearing an expensive business suit, right now I would feel so defeated."


	3. Hot Chocolate, Cold Vanilla

Chapter 3 – Hot Chocolate / Cold Vanilla

8 am rise and shine:

it was a long night.

Bright lights, long fights—against the weary eyes—and all night, what a sight was the life.

Even Graceville had a little black dress.

The night is full of different—what's the word— _things_. Yomotsu was bored of _things_. They were not enough for him. He was not a _things_ kind of guy. They were too vague. Who knows what sort of things happen when _things_ are involved: sort of like hot chocolate. In the warm, sultry night, no _thing_ belonged.

Nothing belonged? Yeah. He could drink to that.

Some go for alcohol. "Pour me another," they say. "Gimme something hard." A shot glass is one way to express a sigh, but man, that is the easy way.

Yomotsu was not an "easy way" kind of guy. When he played Touhou, he played _Touhou_. An "easy way" kind of guy carries an umbrella when it rains. An "easy way" kind of guy wears a coat when it's cold. Not Yomotsu. He wears only his conscience and skin-tight pajamas. There ain't nothing "easy way" about Yomotsu—he is a blind man on a motorcycle, riding on toward the burning sunset.

"Burn on, little sunset," he'd say. "You know ya gotta put the moon in its place."

The moon

was nothing compared to this cup of hot chocolate.

Yomotsu seemed like a marshmallows kind of guy. On the outside, some might describe him even as "squishy." Some might think that if you submerge him in the heat too long, he will become all soft. That might work for some men, but Yomotsu was not having that right now. He had too much to deal with to let himself get squishy. No—not at a time like this.

Already, he had slept the morning away. He took a shower and thought to himself, "This is a waste of time. While I get clean, the world gets dirtier." He stuck his bread into the toaster, and he realized that at the same time, the world was being fried by scourge of injustice. Everything was such a meaningless occupation, with all the work that still needed to be done. Everything was time wasted—except for one thing:

This cup of hot chocolate.

"Mmmm." He pressed his lips to the mug. "Play me that sweet jazz." He tipped the cup down slightly, and—ah—the soothing liquid passed through the parting of his lips. It heated his blood. "Play me that sweet jazz of justice."

It reminded him of his childhood, back in—

Not now. He looked toward the window. There was too much evil in the world to spend time reminiscing. Besides, that was filler for a later chapter. He knew it in his heart. Character development needed to precede that backstory, in this case. He told himself that this morning, when he felt like telling a passerby the truth behind the mask.

Yomotsu sipped the hot chocolate. He was so glad there were not marshmallows in it. Hot chocolate was something sacred. It was like an ideal world, and in an ideal world, such breeches of natural order are breeches of moral order. To tamper with perfection: that is criminal behavior.

The mug was from Target. He was in one day for an interview, and there was this nice mug on the gentleman's desk. He considered asking where he could procure one, or if he would be able to get one once he started on the team. After all, he was going to be working in the clothing department, and what are mugs if not clothing for beverages? So, he thought about asking.

Instead, Yomotsu grabbed the mug and ran. The man had just barely finished saying, "Well, I'm certain you'll make a great addition to the team," when Yomotsu's instincts kicked in. He grabbed that white mug with the red bullseye on it and dashed out of the room, out of the Employee's Only area, out of the store, and out of the running for Target's opening in the clothing department.

That same mug was in his left hand, half full with hot chocolate. The inside was stained with a light brown where he had already polished off some of the drink. He used his right hand to bring the morning paper closer.

He could just imagine the headline: "Sudden Internet Blackout Causes Mass Terror."

He took a sip of the hot chocolate. It was a dark, depraved world; that was for certain. Dark as the contents of this mug: but within the world, perhaps there were little white lights of hope.

Then it occurred to him: perhaps not everything needed to be so abysmally dark. Perhaps there was something to be said of a little pleasant company, a twinkling _étoile_ in the night, a few marshmallows to occupy a little of the space.

There was always room for something different, right?

Some go for coffee. The mornin' cup'o'joe, right? The best part of waking up… Yomotsu sighed. That was one way to put it.

But for him, there was only one drink away the previous night and give tribute to a new day, and that was with a nice mug of hot chocolate.

* * *

Yuri Petrov used the big toe of his left foot to scratch at his right leg. He had been so inactive during the day that now, after the sun had gone down, he was suddenly restless. These past few moments had actually been spent in his mind, where he was debating what to blame most for how uselessly the day had gone by.

He could, of course, blame himself. That was the first thought that came to his mind, actually. Then he realized that even if he were to blame himself, he would have to go a bit deeper than that. He normally was not like this. Back in Sternbild, he had a reputation among his coworkers and associates as a natural busybody.

Something was definitely to blame, beyond just his simple nature. It was Yomotsu who seemed like the real layabout. After all, Yuri had to ask himself: What self-respecting man walks around in his pajamas up to and often through noon, watches Power Rangers recordings ritually, and appears to drink only Grape Fanta and hot chocolate with his food?

And where did the food even come from? Not as in where it came from literally—he was as concerned about GMOs and ingredient origin as the next guy—but where it came from _monetarily_. No evidence presented itself that the man had a job of any sort. At first, he just presumed that Yomotsu was self-employed and worked at home. He was eccentric; perhaps he was a graphic designer. All of his guesses fell short of having evidence.

There was the chance that Yomotsu was the inherent of some hidden fortune. He did not seem out of place with the image in his head of an odd ball child from a wealthy and prominent family. Nowhere in the house, however, were there photographs of people who could be Yomotsu's family. Nothing seemed to fit. Everything about the man seemed unattached to anything of value. He appeared to have no job, no decent taste in clothing or food or television, no interest in fine wine, no interest in women, and as for friends...

Yuri's knees lifted up from within the sheets. He stared up at the Stucco ceiling. He connected some of the random dots together in his head, without really thinking about it, and they appeared to him like a fox's head. He saw the triangular ears the most distinctly, but the rest filled in enough to justify the illusion when he questioned it.

It reminded him of this story his father had told him. The story had only been told once, but he remembered it, for probably the dumbest reason he could think of. He remembered the story, because it was told to him the same night that he made his first snow man. That day left an impression, which seemed weird now, because he never made another snow man in his life. Then again, that also might have explained why it was so important that one time.

His father was a good story teller. It is not a trait most people expected from him. "Most people" constituted a lot of people in his father's case, but little Yuri Petrov would not figure that out until later, along with all the glaring misconceptions. His father's imagination and oratory skills satisfied Yuri, who often would walk into his parents' room at night, long after he was supposed to have dozed off, and ask for a bedtime story.

"Sure, Yuri," his father would say. Then he would make a lot of noise, as he got up from the bed. Yuri would run to the bed, really fast, barefoot, and jump back into the bed. He'd curl up into a ball, holding the sheets tightly. Squeezing the cold, bundled up sheets always gave him a good feeling.

He would face the door, where the moonlight from the big kitchen window would be concentrated. His father would whisper a few words to Yuri's mother sometimes, and then come in through the moonlight and sit by the side of Yuri's bed. His father would sit cross-legged, and at such a height while sitting, he was on just the right level with Yuri on his bed. Before beginning the story, his father would brush some of his shaggy, white hair away from his eyes and clear his throat in this noisy, gross manner. Then he would begin in a quiet voice that commanded Yuri's attention, let it rise into normal speech, and then let it sink once more, until it was soft enough to lull his son to sleep.

That was how it almost always went. Most of the time, Yuri would fall asleep well before a story was close to concluding. When he woke up, he would remember only bits of what his father had told him, if that. This one particular time, however, he had remained awake through the whole story and fell asleep after his father had returned to bed. That, and the fact that this was the day him and his parents built the snow man, made it so easy to remember the story.

The actual words were long forgotten, of course, but the story went something like this:

A pack of wolves were traveling through the snowy woods for several days and had still not found any food. They were growing so hungry that it was making them snap at their leader, the alpha wolf. They were blaming him for everything they could think of, whether it be leading them to areas that obviously would have no prey to scaring them away with his howling to even secretly killing all the prey when they were sleeping and eating even the bones, so no one would notice there had ever been an animal there. They were too hungry to notice how their leader was the most desperate among them, with his ribs jutting out and his eyes sunk in deep.

Then, one day, a bright red fox appeared against the clear snow. "Food, food!" The wolves began to growl. They were all licking their chops, except for the alpha male. The others began to discuss who would get what portions of the fox, but the leader was studying something else about the fox. He turned to the others, before some of the more eager ones among them could latch out, and suggested to them that they ask the fox for help. He agreed that the fox looked like a nice plump meal, but to him, that meant something else than just a nice portion to eat: it meant that this fox was finding food when they were not. He proposed that instead of eating him, they should find out how he lives so well in this region.

The others hated the idea, but they were too weak to argue or fight their alpha male. Even in his weakness, the leader still had power over them. The alpha male approached the fox, with the others behind him, and asked explained their situation. The fox listened in, and responded after a moment in few words. He said that nothing he could tell them could make them good hunters; he wisely said that was like trying to tell a human how to ride a bicycle. If they were going to become better hunters, he said they would have to go with him and join him for a hunt.

By this point, this seemed like a great solution. The fox said that, while they were on the subject, he was a little on the hungry side. The wolves could not have agreed more, and they encouraged the fox to go hunt now, rather than later. When the fox went rushing ahead, the other wolves followed anxiously. For how much this fox stood out in the snow, they knew that his hunting methods must be very impressive. Most prey would be alerted by the bright red furball. The fox darted through the trees, and the wolves could barely keep up—the fox had his route all figured out. When the animal moved, he would make leaps and bounds rather than simple and short steps with his paws. This was a fierce stride.

The wolves were clearly dealing with an animal that could find food better than no other carnivore in the woods. This delighted the desperate hunters, who knew that finally their situation was about to change. They all trained their eyes on the red fox. On and on they went, through the blinding white, until they began to get dizzy from focusing on that red subject amidst all the snow.

Suddenly, before any of them were aware of what had happened, they all found the ground no longer beneath their feet. They would look around, as they fell, and notice they were nearing the bottom of a chasm full of rocks. Each wolf, starting with the alpha wolf and ending with their weakest link, fell in a blink into the small chasm, over which the fox had glided with its huge steps.

This was why the fox was healthy and successful, and why the wolves were starving. When no opportunities presented themselves, the wolves did not work out their own solutions but decided to become followers. When the fox found no opportunities, he took advantage of the full situation and converted the useless wolves into useful food.

Yuri still thought it was an odd story to tell a small child, even now, while looking up at the dots on the ceiling.

This was his last night with those dots. Tomorrow he would get to see what Yomotsu had whipped up for him in the basement. He was a bit worried about what these mysterious "preparations" his housemate had in mind might turn out to be. He was hoping that Yomotsu was just setting up an arcade machine or something.

Yuri sat upright. The sheets gathered above his waist, and he brought his arms out from their warmth. The window was inviting. It was a very dark night. He squinted his eyes, but try as he might, he could not make out much in the darkness. This mystery invited his mind to wandering, and he thought about ice cream. Ice cream is a lovely thing for a mind to wander towards for many people, and Yuri just happened to be one of those people.

He thought of cold vanilla ice cream, one of his favorite in all its forms. Classic vanilla, with its slightly yellow color, was a staple, but vanilla bean made him feel more sophisticated. It felt to him like nothing but a grown up's excuse to eat ice cream. French vanilla was such a treat. He hoped there was some in the freezer, but because he had not really checked the freezer lately, that was subject to much speculation.

Yomotsu had insisted on ordering pizza the past few days. They thought they would collide on toppings, but it turned out they both preferred simple cheese. Yuri just was not much of a fan of most toppings and wanted to possibly cut cost, and Yomotsu went on some little rant about how the perfect oasis of cheese should not be tampered with by imperfections. It was really good pizza, if not a little greasy.

The odd truth was that no new food had entered the household other than pizza. They really did need to go grocery shopping sometime. Yuri had plenty of money to spend, and he was sure that Yomotsu would magically pull some out of his fantastic mystery money source. Yuri made up his mind. He would ask—no, he would _tell_—Yomotsu to go shopping with him tomorrow.

"T'CHOHHHH!"

Yuri's attention snapped back to the window. He could have sworn he had just heard some sort of high pitch noise, almost like—

There was an unmistakable dull thud. With the sort of swiftness that accompanies someone who had been lying awake in bed for a prolonged time, thinking of getting ice cream soon, Yuri rushed to the window. Down the sidewalk, there was a shadowy figure running. It was far too dark to make out the details.

Yuri opened up the window. It was as still outside as it was dark, the sort of environment that conducted an excellent awareness to sound. Yuri crawled out of his window, and a second later his feet landed on the soft grass. From the left side of the house, he advanced in pursuit, mindful in the darkness not to wander onto Yomotsu's precious garden.

The reason for why it was so dark became obvious as soon as Yuri prepared to close in on his subject. From the hedges that separated their lawn from their neighbors', he could see the line of streetlights. None of them were on. When he looked up, he saw that the night's moon was covered up with clouds. If he was going to figure out who this figure was, he would have to get much closer.

He would grant this mystery person one thing: this one could really run. If Yuri stood around deliberating for too long, he would totally miss his chance. Making too much of a ruckus as he followed, however, could both tip off his target and possibly draw attention by someone else still awake at this hour. Neither possibility seemed inviting, since he hardly had an excuse if cornered. If asked why he, a strange man in demon ducky shorts, was creeping around at night like this, few words would explain the situation away.

"I just have to stay off the sidewalk, that's all," Yuri told himself, silently. "The rest will take care of itself." With this confidence, he ran ahead. The figure was still within view. Just as his target could run, so could he. After hopping the hedge, Yuri sprinted through the neighbor's lawn and did the same for the next few houses. This residential area was no obstacle course, thankfully.

There was one streetlight ahead that was flickering on and off. Finally, Yuri had his chance. He bravely increased his speed and closed in. There was the great chance he would be spotted, but it was worth the risk. In the moment the figure passed through the light, he wanted to make sure he caught an impressionable glimpse.

It happened so quickly, but the image certainly remained in his mind for a while after: the figure he had been pursuing was in Yomotsu Hirasaka's pajamas and had a giant eyeball mask on. Considering that no one else could match Yomotsu's knack for apparel, Yuri apprehended that in reality, it had to be Yomotsu himself. That eyeball mask looked so familiar, too.

"It was the one he shoved into the kitchen cupboard," Yuri realized. If the Yomotsu could have seen his face at this very moment, as clearly as the latter could see his, Yuri's expression would have been totally deadpan.

"WHAT A FINE TIME TO GO FOR A NIGHTLY RUN," Yuri wanted to shout after him. "AND IT'S CHILLY, SO YOU DECIDED TO COVER UP YOUR HEAD AND FACE AND EVERYTHING. HOW VERY CUTE."

Case closed. It was Yomotsu. He would go back to bed and hope that this would not give him weird dreams. Yuri turned around and began in the direction of their house. He stepped on a dog's squeaky toy five seconds in.

"CRAPCRAPCRAPCRAP."


	4. Off, On

Chapter 4 – Off / On

Yuri knew that his next move had to be fast and furious. It had to be six whole movies worth of the fast and the furious, or else it would fall short and everything might just fall apart. His initial impulse was to just remain frozen in the position he was currently in, but that would make him look even _more_ suspicious, if that would be even possible. After all, he had to wonder: Being followed is suspicious, but what is more suspicious than being followed by someone who, upon being caught, simply stands stock-still? He had to at least be a believable spy.

Nearby, he found one of the shrubs on the lawn. It was just close enough to duck behind, although it was so close that it had to be within Yomotsu's line of hearing. No matter; in this quiet, there was no telling what could and could not be properly picked. Yomotsu was a runner, that much could be gleaned so far, and if he made a dash for it, Yuri would be on the losing end.

He ducked beyond the bushes—later on, he would reflectively wonder whether these plants would be better called _bushes_ or _shrubs_, and this led him to question all facets of botanical etymology—and listened as Yomotsu's footsteps got closer and closer. His feet began on the paved sidewalk, but then they transitioned to the padded grass. Yomotsu, who was wearing his typical gray-black onesie pajamas, had soft footsteps, which could only be heard because of how dead the night was. Yuri, however, almost wished he had not been able to hear them—it only made him more and more nervous, which made his heart beat faster and faster, which drowned out any sound _other than_ those ominous footsteps themselves.

The footsteps were getting louder, as though someone in the distance were making slight adjustments on the speakers. A little more, and everything would come crashing down, and he would have to live with the unbearable shame of having been figured out by Yomotsu.

"My, my! If it isn't The Twelfth! Aren't you a sight for sore eye?"

The footsteps stopped. Yuri remained kneeling behind the bush, in suspense. That voice was totally new to him. Someone had saved him from being identified, if indeed Yomotsu would have had a way of truly identifying Yuri without being able to see his face. More on his mind, though, was that peculiar name by which the man had identified Yomotsu.

"You sound surprised to see me, but I am not surprised to see you!" Now it was clearly Yomotsu who was speaking. The voice lifted from a deep low to an emphatic high. "A scoundrel such as you belongs to the night! You can't stand your works to be done in the day—Wi-Fi Man!"

Yuri looked around. He was waiting for the people to jump out from behind their hiding places, and tell him he was on Candid Camera. He could somehow accept Yomotsu dressing up in a onesie and being called The Twelfth, because that somehow was excusable and just made proper sense given it was _Yomotsu_, but the incredulity of there being a "Wi-Fi Man" was enough to make anticipate Peter Funt's narration and the accompanying laugh track.

Yuri felt brave enough now to break himself away from his position. He shuffled himself in such a manner that he could remain hidden behind the bush/shrub, while also being at such an angle and spot as to see to a large degree what was happening so close by.

By this time, The Twelfth had stepped back onto the sidewalk, where he stood parallel from this "Wi-Fi Man," with perhaps two meters separating them. Twelfth was still wearing that ridiculous giant eyeball mask, which was not surprising. Yuri was now searching his appearing, looking for the number "12," but unable to find anything of the sort.

Wi-Fi Man had a more elaborate getup. He donned a white long-sleeve polo, with the traditional Wi-Fi symbol printed largely on the chest—the tower with two blue sets of waves coming from the circular top. His pants were that same shade of blue, giving his look a nice bit of uniformity, and he wore white rubber boots and gloves. Strapped to his back was this mess of a contraption, with various antennae sticking out here and there and lights blinking on and off all over the place. Wi-Fi Man's face was concealed by a hollowed out, old-school computer monitor—a bulky, off-white monitor fitting for a Windows 95 model, perhaps.

"I am merely at the first cell in my spreadsheet of destruction," Wi-Fi Man proclaimed, his voice sounding only slightly muffled as it came through his makeshift monitor mask. "Once these initial tests are completed, I shall have all the data I need to copy and paste this set of commands into the daytime slot—and there I shall cause widespread paranoia! Soon, all of the Wi-Fi connections in this area will be turned off, and once I'm through with Graceville, I will extend my reach throughout the country!"

The Twelfth had his hands on his hips and was shaking his big, eyeball head. "You're efforts so far have been so weak that the locals have merely dismissed this sporadic loss of Internet connection as technical error," he began. "But regardless of your ineffectiveness thus far—I must stop you, evildoer, before you can claim even the slightest victory! I have alerted the local authorities of your presence, and while the general public may not know your name, you are a now a wanted man!"

A silence followed. Wi-Fi Man pulled on his rubber gloves, before tightening his hands into fists and getting into what looked like a Tekken-worthy fighting stance. He would bounce from one leg to the other, slightly back and forward, while punching occasionally in the air with one fist or the other. The Twelfth let his body slouch forward slightly, and his long arms dragged down in front of him, giving him this zoned-out appearance.

Yuri watched as Wi-Fi Man rushed forward, sending a flying right hook Yomotsu's way. The Twelfth, however, anticipated the strike and dodged to the left, allowing Wi-Fi man to rush past him. His opponent staggered forward, before regaining his composure and making another go at it. This time, he advanced with a quick shuffle of his feet and began to strike with multiple punches, aiming high and low at a random pattern.

Yomotsu caught each blow with his forearm. The gloves he wore appeared to be strong enough to protect him from the blunt of the blow, or else Wi-Fi Man's punches were weaker than they initially appeared. Either way, The Twelfth made his opponent look like a total pushover.

When Wi-Fi Man was growing tired of the onslaught, The Twelfth took immediate notice of the slower pace and the diminishing energy in the would-be criminal threat's attacks. Yomotsu blocked another punch and, in less time than it would have taken for Wi-Fi Man to make his next attempt, Yomotsu gave a sharp roundhouse kick to Wi-Fi Man's side.

This was enough to cause Wi-Fi Man to crumble to the sidewalk. The Twelfth, never one to overdo his offensive, immediately planted his foot on Wi-Fi Man's back, as though claiming new territory, with his flag being the invisible banner of justice.

"You—innocent bystander in the bushes: call the police and let them know that I have captured Wi-Fi Man."

Yuri pointed to himself. He almost asked, "Who… me?" He knew, however, that so far he had not pronounced his voice, and the moment he spoke, it would surely give away his identity. So long as he remained hidden and silent, there was still a clean way out of this situation. He would have to speak on the phone, but he'd do it in such a low whisper, in such a put-on accent, that it would be enough to fool to trick anyone, even Yomotsu.

Sitting cross-legged in the grass, Yuri pulled out his phone from within the pocket of his devil ducky shorts. It was a smartphone, because Yuri did like to keep up with the times at times. He rang up the Graceville police department and was welcomed by a cheerful female robot voice: "Hello! Your call is very important to us. That is why we are making sure you get placed to the right person at the right time. We realize that your satisfaction is the engine that keeps Graceville running all peachy keen. Please wait while we transfer your call."

A nice little jingle started, and Yuri found himself bobbing his head along with it after a while. It was excruciatingly catchy, like double stick tape. Yomotsu, when Yuri looked over at him out of the corner of his eye, was still standing proudly over his defeated opponent. _One kick_. It had only taken one kick, and now Wi-Fi Man was out completely.

"Hey man, this is the police and stuff. Uhhhhh… What can we do for youz?"

Yuri let out a quick, inward sigh. He went with the first accent that came to mind, trying to do his best to sound as much unlike himself as possible, in case Yomotsu was able to overhear. "Dees ees uh pedestrian, unt ich vant to tell ch'you daht dah Twelfth hass caught-uh Vhy-Fi Man. Vee ahr aht…" Yuri checked the street signs and relayed their location accordingly.

When he was finished, Yuri slipped the smartphone back into his pocket and simply waited. Given the level of professionalism he had already observed from the police, he was surprised when a police vehicle arrived in short time.

Two officers pulled out of the vehicle. One was a portly man, with a thick mustache, who had a certain bounce in his walk. The other officer was very tall and had a bald head. Had there been a pronounced moon out, Yuri was sure the light would have reflected beautifully off the man's cranium.

"Ey, if it isn't ol' Eye Sore!" called out the plump officer. "Guess youz weren't kiddin' afterall! This looks like a real tried an' true Wi-Fi Man, if I ever saw one!"

The tall officer stood by his partner's side and simply said, in a deep bass voice, "Ditto."

Yuri watched as Yomotsu stepped off the crushed Wi-Fi Man, allowing the two officers to hoist him up and handcuff him.

"Are youz also the one who'z responsible for the streetlights goin' out?" The mustached officer led the criminal to the vehicle.

Wi-Fi Man shook his monitor head. "Nope, that's some other guy."

The mustached officer gave a few nods. "Youz mean there's more pathetic guyz like youz, with nothin' better to do in your time than cause technical difficulties? Ouch. My regimen of playing XBOX all day seems a lot more productive, all of a sudden!"

The bald officer gave a nod and echoed powerfully, through his partner's laughter, "I love those boxes."

The officers pushed Wi-Fi Man into the vehicle, which was difficult because of that bulky backpack setup, before preparing to leave just as quickly as they came. "Hey, thanks Eye Sore!"

Yomotsu crossed his arms. "I prefer to be called The Twelfth: Hero of Justice."

The chubby officer started up laughing, as he and his partner got into the vehicle, from opposite sides. "Yeah, whatever!" He shouted through the ajar car window. The police vehicle started off slow and then sped off.

Now was perhaps the most difficult part for Yuri, as the situation quickly dawned on him. Now that Wi-Fi Man had been apprehended, there was no reason why Yomotsu might not call the one who had been following him into question, and Yuri was not sure how long he could keep his housemate out of the loop.

"It is getting late. I should be returning home now."

Yuri smiled. Perhaps it really would be _that_ easy, just as everything so far had gone so easily. If Yomotsu was saying that he was going to go home, that meant he would not be questioning him at this moment. He would just be leaving him. Then the smile disappeared, when he remembered that Yomotsu's home was also his own, and if The Twelfth should go on first and immediately check in on his housemate, he'd find an empty room.

"…Me too," Yuri returned, trying to maintain his accent, as his brain formulated how to get out of this predicament. Yuri observed, from behind the bush, as Yomotsu started walking away—in the exact opposite direction of their house.

Yuri, while puzzled, thought it best to just play along. He rose and, once he was sure that his housemate was a safe distance away, began the steady walk back the opposite way, toward their house. This went on for some time, before Yuri began hearing something behind him.

He was halfway to the house, when he noticed something flash behind the bushes behind him. Yuri took a few more steps and then, out of the corner of his eye, caught Yomotsu hopping again from shrub to shrub. For every few steps he went, his housemate, in an attempt at stealth, kept creeping behind him, trying to give the illusion that he had already continued on down the other end of the sidewalk.

Yuri gave up on reacting, and just simply accepted this pattern of being followed, all the way up until they reached the house. He then, after checking the front door and realizing that the doorknob had still not been replaced—since Yomotsu yanked it off, that first day he had arrived—suffered to crawl back up into his window. Yuri threw himself onto the bed and slept for a long time.

* * *

A strip of fruit leather tastes best at night, after a tough and eventful day. Fruit leather has that tough texture that takes some time to work through, but once it finally yields, it offers such sweetness and tartness at once. $2.00 a box, the other day—he still had no regrets about that purchase. Sometime soon, he would buy some more fruit leather, if the sale was still going on. It was one of those in-store specials; it was one of those elusive finds that could not be pinpointed just from the given material of the store ad.

A real investigation tastes best at night, after a tough and eventful day. A real investigation has that tough _texture_ that takes some time to work through, but once the case finally yields, it offers such sweetness and tartness at once. 2:00pm, what seemed like the other day—he still had no idea about that message. Sometime soon, he knew he would have it all figured out, if this current lead was correct. It was one of those unexpected specials; it was one of those elusive targets that could not be pinpointed just from the given material of the Most Wanted List.

Yomotsu sat cross-legged on the floor of his room. His laptop was hot against his legs. He was still in costume, minus the eyeball mask, which had been slung over the arm of his rolling chair. The desk was a mess, full of cut-out newspaper clippings, cut-out coupons, and the like. His window was covered up by the thick curtains, leaving the illumination from the laptop screen as the only light in the room.

He was scrolling down with the touchpad, through his gloves. It was not working out well. Frustrated, he ripped off the gloves and tossed them onto the chair. He went back to staring at the screen, scrolling down whatever it was he was scrolling through. He had the screen set to its brightest level, because that was the manufacturer's default, but truth be told, the screen could have been pitch black and it would have made no difference to Yomotsu.

"With Wi-Fi Man in custody, that removes one more possibility," Yomotsu whispered to himself. "But…" But, he had played his Diary, and the same message had been repeated back to him. That same message that, just like all other messages, was in his own voice and betrayed only the essential details. Wi-Fi Man had been captured, but the message remained. "This means…"

He opened up one of the files on his desktop. Inside, he created a new document. It was born among dozens of others, organized alphabetically. After naming the document, it fell from its original spot at the top to the very bottom. A list of documents took the form of a list of names—first, then last. He typed a "W," and then cycled to the second result. He moved that file to a different folder. It was important to keep these two groups separate.

"I hate to suspect you, but…" He opened the file he had created just a few seconds ago. "I can't ignore this possibility. Surveillance must be done, posthaste, just in case…"

The window popped up: the blank document. He began typing away. His fingers knew the keyboard intimately. Thousands of words appeared within a short time, spawned from the minimal information he had. There were so many blank spots, so much inadequacy in the data. He rested his right elbow on his right knee, and then rested his cheek on that palm. Yomotsu sighed.

"If you are who you say you are, you still could be who I _think_ you are, or even, _who you potentially could be_. Simply observing you as I have been so far will not suffice; a subject displays more strands of behavior in new environments. If you are righteous, you have nothing to fear, but if you are truly wicked at heart, you will certainly be vanquished! It is for this reason that tomorrow, we must go to the grocery store."

He closed the laptop.

"Mr. Petrov… You said you have your own particular vision of justice. Whether your vision is clear or tainted, will be put to the test very soon. You're the one I've been looking for, whichever way the future unfolds. In either case, I am most fortunate that you're living in the same household as me… Yuri, the game is on."


	5. Rapid Eye Movement, Slow Sounds

Chapter 5 – Rapid Eye Movement / Slow Sounds

Yuri brought his legs closer to his chest, from underneath the sheet. His knee made a quiet snapping crack, and, with a groan, he leaned forward. He wrapped his arms around his legs and looked around the room. Yuri was blinking away his blurry vision.

The room was sweaty, moistened by how the sun seemed to narrow in on Yuri's little window. This room also had the perfect view of the moon, on that first night; at least, he reflected, this would be the last night here. There was something so unsettling to him about being directly under the light. He would be occupying the basement that night. That made him a little more eager to get up.

Yuri shifted himself so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He flexed his arm out for his phone. After sliding his finger across it and putting in his password, he casually noticed the time: 1:17 pm. He closed his eyes and stretched his jaw. Certainly, he was more of a night person, but today he needed to get up. They had a very important day ahead of themselves.

Not bothering to gather his clothes, Yuri got up and left his warm room. He would take a shower in a little bit. He first needed to make sure Yomotsu was up, as that could be a much longer process. Yuri had dealt with it before; his housemate had a notoriously difficult time waking up. No sound was beyond his sense of hearing _when he was awake_, but once he fell asleep, a gunshot would cause barely a stir.

The hallway was quite cool. From halfway across it, he could see Yomotsu, sprawled on the couch. He was still in the same suit as last night—in fact, his eyeball mask was under his head, being utilized as a pillow. Yuri scowled and looked a bit past Yomotsu's feet, which faced him. On the blue footrest, there was an open can of Fanta.

Two concerns came to Yuri's mind—first, should that can tip, anything inside of it would spill onto the nice footrest. The second worry had greater consequences; something had stopped Yomotsu from finishing the can. Yuri bent down to examine the full extent of this problem. After shaking the can a bit, he found it _half full_. Yuri took a sip. It was _slightly cooler than lukewarm_.

Yuri's eyes widened, and he looked at his friend with some spite. The can had not been out long enough to reach room temperature, which meant that either he had risen in the night for a drink he would be unable to finish or—and this was the cause of his irritation—Yomotsu had tried and failed to pull an all-nighter.

If Yomotsu had just literally gone to sleep a short while ago, the whole day had been shot in the foot. No, even worse; it had been shot in the throat. It had been overkilled, right in the vitals. If Yomotsu's sleep had been strong enough to keep him from finishing his Fanta, this was too far out of his own hands.

He would shower out the frustrations and try after. It was too much for him to ask of himself to put forth serious effort after only just waking up. Yuri went back to his room, and enduring the tangible heat, neatly folded the makings of his suit along his arm. He stood, in the hallway for a while, with the clothes on his arm and the white devil ducky shorts being all he needed to reach a state of perfect temperature. He scratched his chin and took a shower.

He did a lot of contemplating normally in the shower. Hour long showers were not uncommon for Yuri, who enjoyed manipulating the water's temperature to sear his flesh or to chill his skin. Usually, he would begin with a cold shower and work it up into a warm one, letting his feelings and thoughts brood up into a cathartic release. When the heat turned to pain, and when the pain was too much, he would abruptly end the spray and bring his body temperature back down.

This morning would contain a forty minute shower, and it began a little on the hot side.

His long, silver hair dripped down in front of his face, which was pulled into a tight expressionless glare. A voice came from the other side of the curtain. The curtain provided two-way cover; Yuri listened to the voice with neither he nor the speaker able to be seen.

"Yuri."

He rubbed his face with his wet hands, massaging the area around his cheekbones.

"Yuri, if you see bad people, you mustn't turn a blind eye to them."

He smirked and reached with his free arm for the backscratcher hanging inside the shower.

"Become someone strong who can punish evil."

The shower curtain flung open, and Yuri swung his backscratcher into the air. He was taking in deep, loud breaths. The bathroom was empty. A few moments were allowed to pass like this, with Yuri half extended out of the shower, backscratcher in hand. The front of his body cooled, while the back half felt like it was burning.

He closed the curtain just as violently as he had opened it, and settled back in under the stream of water. His eyes went about the shower; they stung a bit. Maybe he had gotten some shampoo in them, at some point, but he was not sure. He just wanted to finish the shower now. It was beginning to hurt.

After drying himself with the towel, he went about his usual morning routine. He knew he would probably end up eating very soon, but he ritually brushed his teeth right after taking a shower. It completed the clean feeling. He placed both hands on the counter and looked into the mirror for some time, afterward. He would have stayed like that for a long time, but Yomotsu was an idiot and had carpet in his bathroom. He did not want the water to drip into the carpet.

He wrapped one of his towels around his body and the other around his head. Both were similarly a mosaic pattern of bright green and blue. He stepped again into the cool hallway, for some fresh air and to check on Yomotsu, who was still sprawled on the couch, although in a new position. He had flipped around; now his face was sinking deep into a real pillow, which earlier his feet had been resting on, and his mask was flung onto the floor somewhere along the way.

After Yuri was dressed, clean, and had prepared his breakfast, he sat down on the unoccupied couch. It was very quiet. He thought about checking what was on TV, but he was sure that turning on the TV would result in Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers suddenly turning on and blaring at him. He considered the cliché of silence being "music to your ears," and he accepted that in his current case, it was awfully fitting. Silence went very well with his piece of toast, with raspberry jam spread across it, and tall glass of ice water.

Suddenly, Yomotsu stirred. It was nothing but a jumbled half-moan, half-conversation, but it was something Yuri could latch onto. From the other couch, he sipped at his ice water and merely gave him a curious glance. Then, setting the glass down on a little plate (the closest thing to a proper saucer Yuri could find in the kitchen) on the foot rest, he brought himself over to Yomotsu's side.

The sleeping hero had begun to drool on the pillow, creating a small stain from where the corner of his mouth touched the case. It was a plain, white pillow. It definitely was not there before; it did not match the set. While Yomotsu had no sense of design, Yuri was certain this was something that Yomotsu must have just fetched from the closet or from his own room perhaps. What compelled Yomotsu to use his last remaining effort and consciousness to grab a pillow and a can of Fanta and bring it to the couch, rather than to just properly make his way to his own bed, Yuri concluded he would probably never figure out.

Yomotsu's eyes were flitting; Yuri discerned that this was the time to act. He was desperate enough to accept the strangeness of a blind man showing such visible signs of rapid eye movement, because if Yomotsu really was in this stage of sleep, the situation was ripe for him to be woken up. Yuri took hold of his glass of ice water and with dramatic and sudden flare, poured a small amount onto Yomotsu's face.

* * *

Yomotsu shot up at such a speed that Yuri, startled, nearly fell over backward. In the state of mind of most who have just suddenly been woken up, he looked around frantically. "Who is the wretched evildoer who woke me?" He looked straight at Yuri. "Your crimes will be punished!"

Yuri lifted a brow. "It's just me," he said, before taking another sip of ice water. "I decided it was time for you to get up. I was just making breakfast, and there is not much left in the fridge. I was thinking we should go to the grocery store today. I obviously could go by myself, but I don't know my way around town yet, and I thought you might like to go, too."

Yomotsu scratched his head. "Oh, yeah… The grocery store…" A smile crept on his face. "The grocery store… Yeah… Let's go to the grocery store." He stretched his arms and found the can of Grape Fanta. He brought it closer to his body and then, holding it close, continued, "We can take the Righteous Tsunami and be there in no time. I know the route by heart."

Yuri tried to picture it: he would be at the mercy of a blind man, a blind man who had just suddenly woken up from sleep deprived state of mind, driving a motorcycle, and because he would be sitting behind him, presumably the only thing Yuri would be able to hold onto for support would be Yomotsu himself. _He_ would have to be the woman wrapping her arms around Yomotsu.

"How about we take my car," Yuri suggested, after another sip of ice water. "My Phantom." He said it with elevated pride. "You'll be the talk of the town, being seen getting out of that beauty."

Yomotsu's shoulders picked up and then dropped off. "That would be fine," he said. "But I get to pick the music."

The way he said that bothered Yuri almost as much as the words themselves had. That voice had been so foreboding; within it was contained the phrase, "And this is how I shall exact my revenge on you for waking me up like this..." That and, given Yomotsu's other questionable choices in interior decorating and bathroom flooring selection, the possible musical tastes of a man who dresses up in pajamas to fight petty wannabe criminals did not necessarily seem promising.

Yomotsu got ready rather quickly. Something had certainly put a spark in him. He walked with new life, and Yuri realized with curiosity that, save last night, this was the most enthused he had seen the man. He must have been pretty pumped for the grocery store.

They got into the Rolls-Royce Phantom a little after 3:00. Yuri had to remind Yomotsu to be careful, so as not to scratch any of the retro beige interior. Once they both had their seatbelts on, Yuri relaxed into his seat and watched as Yomotsu eagerly sat toward the front of his seat, with this huge grin on his face.

"Did you bring the music you wanted?" Yuri sighed out the question.

"Definitely!" The other half-squealed.

"…Is this drive even going to be long enough to warrant listening to certain music? We could just turn on the radio."

Yomotsu chuckled. "The trip can be as long as you want it to be."

"Easy for you to say," Yuri remarked. "You're not the one paying for the gas."

Yomotsu was wearing a white short-sleeve shirt with a Japanese red dot in the center. He also wore denim jeans, slightly faded, and sandals without socks. This was the most casual and presentable Yuri had seen him; Yuri, by contrast, was wearing a caramel-colored suit with a black and yellow polka-dotted tie.

Yuri noticed that Yomotsu had just opened the CD case. He slid the CD into the player, as Yuri just watched. "I'm not going to like it, you know," he said.

"You don't even know what it is yet," Yomotsu protested, softly.

"But I have very particular musical interests."

The music started up with a powerful 18 second intro, before fading into a mildly funky beat. Yuri looked toward Yomotsu. He was about to say something, when 50 seconds in, the vocals started up. He frowned and looked back at the CD player. "What is this?" Yuri asked.

"Why?" Yomotsu smirked.

"Because, I like it so far."

Yomotsu chuckled to himself. "It's Daft Punk, their most recent album, Random Access Memories. French house is at its best when it sticks to disco roots. Woolfy vs. Projections, Kraftwerk, Justice…"

Yuri laughed. "Justice? You like Justice?"

"I _love_ Justice," Yomotsu corrected, "And you might laugh, but you'll grow to love it too. This Daft Punk you're listening to… It makes you want to dance, right?"

Yuri's eyes were wide, staring ahead past the dash board. "Irresistibly so, Yomotsu. I want to shake parts of my body I've never shaken before." The slow sounds gave life back to his body.

"As I thought…" Yomotsu asked to have his window rolled down partway. He glanced toward his house, its superior garden, and its overall non-uniqueness as a unit of this neighborhood. He kept his face averted when he asked, "What music do you normally listen to?"

Yuri cleared his throat and straightened his sitting posture. "I mostly listen to classical composition," he answered. "Although, when it comes to modern work, which is usually vastly inferior, I do have a slight interest in—"

His voice became an incoherent mumble, as he also turned to look out of his window. Yomotsu looked back over at the other. "What was that? What other music do you like?"

Yuri mumbled it again, but still, even Yomotsu could not discern what he had said. "Pardon?" He repeated. "You can like whatever music you want, so just feel free to admit it…"

"I LIKE VISUAL KEI, OKAY."

Yuri's face blushed. He refused to look back at Yomotsu, who suddenly started to pat his shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay," Yomotsu said quietly. "We all make mistakes, sometimes."

The hand was slapped away. "Truth be told, if you hadn't been around for this drive, I would have listened to Yusei Teikoku. I'm not ashamed. It's just something I wouldn't expect everyone to appreciate."

And at that moment, Yomotsu recalled coming across Yuri's MySpace page, while researching him. It had a gothic design and automatically played My Chemical Romance when someone visited. He remembered the blog posts and poems especially; the rant entitled "nobody understands my code of justice" was especially endearing.


	6. Crazy Old Lady, Sane Young Men

Chapter 6 – Crazy Old Lady / Sane Young Men

It was half past "Beyond" when Yomotsu, suddenly conscious of the fact that Yuri had fallen quiet, snuck his hand over to swat him on the shoulder. "Maybe you should get the car going now."

Had Yomotsu been able to look at his housemate at this point, he would have found his eyelids closed and his mouth hanging open slightly. His silver hair had somehow gotten into disarray and was hanging over his eyes. It looked as though he had just rolled out of bed, only much worse, because usually his hair was much better kempt after he just got out of bed than _this_.

"Oh." Yuri opened his eyes and glanced ahead, through the glass. "Yeah. I suppose… I should." He looked over at the CD player of the car. "This music… It's so beautiful."

Yomotsu nodded.

"It's like a meadow."

Yomotsu smiled. "I know it is, Yuri."

"I don't think you get it," Yuri said a little louder, with bite. "This is what the future sounds like. This is revolution. This is Art. This is the childhood we never had, and never will… because we're old, Yomotsu. We're old, but this music is _new_."

From the passenger seat, a certain Yomotsu turned himself about, so he could look upon Yuri with raised eyebrows. He hoped that at least he would give off an illusion of being stared down—that it might have a similar effect of making Yuri evaluate himself.

"But we will get even older sitting in this car if we don't get the vehicle going towards the grocery store," Yomotsu insisted, before setting himself back upright in his seat.

Yuri sighed and turned the music off. "You're right. Let's get on our way to the grocery store."

There was a knock on the window, to Yomotsu's right. Then two rapid knocks. Both of them looked toward the sound. A small, very small, woman with tan horn-rimmed glasses was peering inside at them. She had white, curly hair, and this mole in the dead center of her forehead that looked sort of like a believer's bindi.

She knocked again, and Yuri went to bring the window down. As the barrier between them lowered, so did her knocks, so much so that she was furiously knocking on the window even as it disappeared inside the door. When it gone, her eyes paused on where it had went, before drifting toward the occupants of the car.

"Yomo, sweetie, you never told me you had a chauffeur! I saw your new vehicle and just wanted to pop by and catch up! I haven't seen you since I got back two Fridays ago! What a treat!"

Yomotsu smiled and, courteously corrected responded, "You're looking as lovely as ever, Miss Olivia. This gentleman here is renting out a space in my property, actually. He only serves as my chauffeur in his part time. He really does have no better hobby."

Yuri raged silently, watching Yomotsu through narrowed eyes. "Oh, is that so?" Miss Olivia, as she was called, automatically replied. "How _interesting_. How _profound_." It was obvious her attention shifted from dominantly on Yomotsu, to dominantly observing the driver. "You really must come inside, for a spot of drink. We can talk about the weather and the metaphysics, for at least a little while?"

"Well, actually," Yuri started up, politely, "We're on our way to—"

"Such a shame that most men wouldn't spare time to chat with a crazy old lady like me, but not my Yomo… He's always made time for me, such a sweetie…"

"And this time is no exception," Yomotsu hastily started up, shoving his hand onto Yuri's mouth, so as to seal it shut. "If you want to head inside, we'll join you in but a second. We have to remove this CD from the CD player. I always get paranoid leaving them inside."

Miss Olivia's various wrinkles all lifted up with her smile, and she closed her eyes and summoned up a hum from her lips. The tune was, to Yuri's surprise, quite familiar. It was, if he was not mistaken, from Chopin's Trestesse. She walked away with a certain hop to her step, produced both from a jovial mood and from her reliance on what looked like a shaman's spirit stick for walking.

Yomotsu's friendly waving ceased when he quickly turned to Yuri. "I need you to be on your best behavior with this woman," Yomotsu advised, putting the CD into its case. "I know we need to get to the grocery store, but we make no attempt at leaving. She's never kept me longer than is necessary. You may not understand now, buy you'll understand soon. Let me do the talking, but answer any questions she directs toward you. Abandon all expectations."

Yuri was about to say something, when Yomotsu opened his door to leave, allowing for no further commentary. Yuri contented himself with being rushed along, for now, provided he was very interested in finding out what was making Yomotsu behave so strangely. He let the car rest behind him, with his keys safe in his pants pocket, and followed Yomotsu to the door, which had been closed behind Miss Olivia.

The house was salmon in color. This light pink, combined with the white trimming and door, gave the house the appearance of a springtime flower. Before the door, where a welcome mat might sit, a mat read in black letters, with one half smaller and above the other, "Be Not Afraid / This is Your Home."

Yomotsu knocked on the door. A few seconds passed, before it opened. Miss Olivia, who at first appeared a little disoriented, glared at the pair for a while before recognition set in. "Oh, Yomo! What a surprise!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up toward him. "And I see you've brought a friend, too! Is this your brother?"

Yomotsu shook his head and answered, "This is my housemate, Yuri Petrov. Yuri, this is—"

"No, no, no!" The woman snapped playfully. "I'll introduce myself, thank you very much." She took a deep breath and set her eyes on Yuri. She extended her shaky hand, thin hand, which Yuri clasped and lightly shook. "I am Miss Olivia Jubajuba–Anastasis don Thingamajig Walkins." When their hands unclasped, she wasted no second in snatching his forcefully and kissing it firmly.

Yuri nodded uncertainly and half-whispered, "Hi."

* * *

She looked at him, as one looks at a new car one has just purchased. "Well don't just stand there! Wind doesn't carry rocks; it carries leaves! Follow me!" She slipped back inside the salmon-colored house, and before Yuri could evaluate what was happening, he was inside with Yomotsu, taking off his shoes, and entering the living room.

Miss Olivia appeared to be one who cared about empty space, for much of the white carpet and the light blue walls inside could be seen, while every little decoration seemed to carry greater importance. There were two armchairs set up in the room, each opposing each other, with an ugly stool sitting off a short distance. When Miss Olivia told them to take a seat, she and Yomotsu assumed the two chairs, leaving Yuri on the barrier between being in what could almost be considered a "time out" zone and being in the personal bubble of the conversation.

From this stool, he observed in one corner an old grandfather clock, which ran backwards instead of forward. In the other corner, there was a bookshelf full of old texts, with such names as Descartes, Schopenhauer, Lao Tzu, and Sartre. A record player sat on a stand next to the bookshelf.

When Yuri looked away from the shelf, he noticed that a seat was vacant. "Glass of pinot noir?" He tried to hide how startled he was by how suddenly Miss Olivia's voice had sounded behind him, by simply muttering an "mmhmm" and taking the empty glass that was offered to him.

She poured it over the white carpet with an artist's skill. The Burgundy black seemed to glide into the tall glass he held so lightly. He felt the weight increase in his grasp, like a newborn growing between his fingertips. She disappeared behind him once more, after he had motioned for her to stop. He took a sip and swallowed slowly. How pleasant, so genuine!

He took another quiet sip and closed his eyes. He was brought back on his first glass of wine. He was a bit older, well past the legal minimum. Most of his colleagues and associates, among that rare sort he did frequently communicate with, had already taken to the occasional drink. Yuri, however, was afraid of what he knew alcohol is capable of. He pretended it was just disinterest, sometimes feigned to be a moral teetotaler.

However, a dark time washed over Yuri's life, as he struggled in university to keep up his high marks. His first drink was a crude beer, something cheap he figured he could get away with. His rationalization was that it was not a real drink if it was cheap, and thus he was not really drinking, nor was he wasting his money on alcoholic beverages. He almost quit drinking then and there, after spitting out the filth, but during a certain date one night, he found out the woman he was attempting to court came from a family of vintners.

What, in this glass of pinot noir, brought back such fond memories of the beautiful young woman and the quiet side of the room they occupied under the soft, golden light, he could only speculate. What about being here, in this quiet room, hearing only the ticking of the reverse grandfather clock, brought to him images of warm timbres from the different instruments of the music on record as he and the young woman, he was faint to be certain of. This was the first proper drink of wine he had since leaving Sternbild, but in a way, it felt like more like the first glass of his youth than it did the drinks when he was working for the Administration of Justice.

"Yomotsu has told me a lot about you," Miss Olivia mentioned, waking Yuri up. "It must be embarrassing, but we talked a while about you just the other day, over the phone. He gives me such good company. I might turn into a total lunatic if it weren't for him."

Yuri's smile answered "that's nice" and then disappeared as he sipped more of the wine. He swallowed and then, his etiquette perhaps refined by the drink, asked rhetorically, "Is that so?" He chuckled softly. "I admit, he's brought a certain sense of normalcy to my life already."

Miss Olivia placed her hand on Yomotsu's, gently stroking it. "He's one of the most sane young men I've ever had the privilege of meeting." She closed her eyes and kept stroking the hand in front of her. "I've lived in this neighborhood all my life, but up until recently, I spent nearly the entire time traveling. I've been to so many countries and soaked up so many cultures… It's wonderful, this beautiful world we have. It's so big and so small at the same time. Like people. So complicated, so emotional and thoughtful, and yet so essentially of the same spirit."

Yuri's glass was halfway to his lips, when he peered over to focus solely on listening. Miss Olivia had leaned back and placed her hands on her lap, on top of her yellow and pink floral blouse. "And how interesting it is, then, when two souls from different realms are brought near. How interesting it is when, outside the individual cell, something calls forth two to become one unit while still holding onto their individuality—in an alliance, what goes for the sake of unity, and what remains the same, for the sake of it remaining an alliance and not an assimilation?" She chuckled. "But…" She waved in front of her face. "Something sure does smell. Oh. It's just the cat."

Yuri's eyes went towards the fat, grey form wobbling toward Miss Oliver. Clearly not able to hop on her lap, it just stretched itself up and reached for her knees, eliciting a kindly pet on its head. "This is Dostoevsky. He's a nice kitty. Ain't you? Ain't you a nice kitty?" She stroked the back of its ears like she stroked Yomotsu's hand, with the same two basic emotions.

"Last time we spoke, you said you were going to look into something for me," Yomotsu alluded, vaguely. _"Vous avez dit "Un œuf sous la lumière artificielle avait une mère toujours" et tel..."_

Yuri nearly coughed up the wine as it went down his throat. The expressions on the faces in front of him betrayed nothing at all unusual about this whole scene.

"Oh, _that_," Miss Olivia responded. "Just let me get there, let me get there! I was getting there, you know." Dostoevsky got what it wanted and wobbled away. "But first, I was hoping you could help me with a few chores out in the back. The grass loves the rain we've been getting, but so do the weeds…"

Miss Olivia rose, and it looked as though Yomotsu was about to protest but held it back successfully. He stood up behind her. "We'll be just one second, dearie," cooed the older woman, setting a hand on his shoulder. "In the meantime, you get your thoughts together. I'd pour you more wine, but you know the damage alcohol can do."

They slipped away into the backyard, and this left Yuri awfully bored. For some unmeasured distance of time, he just sat, swirling his pinot noir within the glass, looking gloomily into the darkness which had just a few moments ago had produced vivid and gentle reminiscence. That light which had surrounded him turned to fires that burned him, however, and he felt some unwelcomed warmth inside of his body. He leaned forward on the stool, only to find that his balance on it was shaky, and he felt the back legs rise behind him, before he fell forward. The wine splattered across the white carpet in front of him, in one big blotch arching forward, from near where his head was. The warmth had not left him, but to the onlooker, the way in which the wine spilled might have indicated that his brains had burst straight out from his skull and onto the carpet.

He was soon on his knees, nervously reaching for the wine glass. A small portion was still inside. He immediately propped the glass back up, sitting it on the stool behind him, somehow satisfied that, against the vast amount that had spilled, at least a portion had not. That gave him some excuse that it was not a _total_ act of clumsiness, that at least there was a marginal room for human understanding.

Still, when he looked on the spill, he could not help but see something horrible. The splatter short clean between where the two chairs were, dividing them, and inched even a little past them. He placed his hands on his knees, and then his knees felt damp. He lifted his hands up to his eyes, and he saw they were stained by the dark grapes.

"What are you going to do now?"

Yuri's hands shook, and he stared through them.

"This could be a problem."

He placed his wet hands on an already wet portion of the carpet, and seized the carpet firmly. He threatened to rip it out as he pulled on it, his body leaning forward.

"Or are you just hoping someone will swoop in and save you? I would if I could, but…"

Lunatic rose to his feet and turned suddenly, in one swift motion, and looked toward the source of the voice suddenly, hands outstretched, joints in his fingers bent like claws ready to strike. "I don't need you to save me!"

He glared forward, and Miss Olivia Walkins looked back at him. His rapid breath slowed, and then, he turned away from her, ashamed and lost, desirous of somehow regaining composure without her recognizing that he had to _try_ to regain it. He saw the carpet was white once more, and there was no stain to be found. He turned once more, and there the glass was on the stool, as full of wine as when the woman had left the room with Yomotsu.

"But you do," Miss Olivia Walkins said, softly. She placed her hands on his shoulders, as he now faced her. Her small stature was made even more apparent by standing so close to him. "Whether you realize it or not, Mr. Yuri Petrov, I know you deserve it, what I have prepared for you. Make no mistake about it, I will save you sane young men." Like that, she left him once more, calling out for Yomotsu, saying she was unable to find the other weed clippers, and they should just use the ones in the outside tool box.


	7. Yum Yums, uhhh…UGHEUGHACKghlu

Chapter 7 – Yum Yums / uhhh…UGHEUGHACKghlu

From Olivia Walkins' residence, Yuri drove himself and Yomotsu to the long-awaited grocery store. The trip there was full of Daft Punk, the smell of Yomotsu's sweat, red lights, and pedestrians crossing the street in front of them. It took some honest restraint for Yuri to not step on the gas when he saw them, especially after the first few.

He had to marvel at this cute little town: Graceville, the quintessential little suburban town. With few exceptions, all the houses were painted cheery colors and had beautifully maintained lawns. The people who were walking to and fro on the sidewalk (when they weren't running in front of him on the road) seemed rather carefree. It was as though this town sat on an entirely different planet from much of the world, especially Sternbuild.

Whereas Sternbild sickened him with its consistent clinging to cheap thrills and overdramatized heroism, Graceville was more about modern minimalism and quaint pleasantries than excitement. While he had still not gone on a full drive through the town, what he had seen so far had thus given him this impression.

When they pulled into the parking lot, they found it close to full. Yomotsu suggested they just take an empty spot towards the back, but Yuri hushed him and crept around the parking lot, with eyes focused and with full intent of finding a spot both near the entrance and towards where the carts were stationed. Sure enough, he managed to lock in a spot just after a car had backed out, and it was three rows from the doors and a car sat loose nearby.

The cart was white and green, matching what Yuri would soon learn to be the store's color scheme. The store was a good size, but it was certainly nothing too uncompromisingly massive as to appear daunting. It was a simple grocery store, nothing more or less. The giant letters above the door, in cute Amienne font, read "Yum Yums" in green with white outlining.

"I'll lead the way," Yomotsu insisted, once they were out of the vehicle and had locked it. "You can push the cart." Thus it was decided that Yuri would follow the blind today.

"We don't even know what we're going to get, do we?" Yuri questioned. "We didn't grab a list, or an ad, or even take a good glance into the freezer and pantry…"

"There's no reason to worry," Yomotsu responded, holding his finger up. "I always am an expert at grabbing just the right amount of food at the right price. You're shopping with an _expert_."

This made Yuri feel a lot better. He casually flipped his hair and glanced towards the cars in the parking lot. A young man in a yellow safety vest was bringing the carts in. He had gauged ears and a tattoo of something on his neck. Because of the nasty looks he kept getting from the young man, and because of the heat, he was glad when they entered the air conditioned store.

"Welcome to Yum Yums!"

To their immediate right, a blonde girl with a beaming, white smile was glaring at them with wide blue eyes. She was about to give them a cart, when she saw Yuri approaching from behind with one. Yomotsu politely smiled and waved in her direction, and Yuri awkwardly increased his speed. This was a weird store: they even had someone to hand out carts in the entryway. Such witchcraft would never last long in Sternbild.

From the wide entrance, where the carts were distributed and baskets could be grabbed, the area opened up to the customer service counter to the immediate left and some promotional sale items straight ahead. They sat against a long, light olive-colored wall, on some white shelving. The desk of the customer service counter, which had a rounded counter top which connected this promotional items wall to the wall of the entrance doors, was a dark green. A young woman, whose back was turned to them, was organizing some sort of paperwork behind the counter.

"Although these items are here because they're on sale," Yomotsu explained, "They take advantage of the immediacy of this location and put in some dodgy deals. Do not be misled! The real sales are still up ahead." Yuri followed him with the cart past this area.

From this area, there expanded in front of them the 9 registers and self-checkout area. All of the employees, of various ages and shapes and dispositions, all wore green polos and khakis and had white nametags with names in the same Amienne font that accentuated the store name outside.

Turning the corner, the other side of the promotion wall wound around and contained various natural and organic shelf-stable foods. With the registers to their right and the organic items to their left, they stood now in front of the produce department, which shared an area with their deli foods.

The two began to pick up produce items at their leisure: Yuri snatched up some oranges, fresh cut pineapple in a little over-priced plastic container, a couple of apples, and a head of lettuce. Yomotsu picked up some bananas and a few ears of corn. Connected to the produce was a little drink stand, where a young man stood waiting for a customer. He was leaning against the wall, with his hand in his pocket, and his eyes just staring forward.

Yuri passed the cart on to Yomotsu, who went towards the deli items, and said he was too thirsty to not give this a shot. In his caramel colored suit and black and yellow tie, Yuri approached the booth and eyed the menu.

"Hey, man, what can I do for you today?"

Yuri frowned and gently tapped on the counter. "I'm looking…"

"Well," the worker started up after a second, "We got a deal going with our Yum Yumalicious Green Dream today. It's probiotic and high in antioxidants and stuff."

Yuri could not argue with that. "Sure…" He mumbled. "I'll try that." $3.50 later, and he had a medium fruit and veggie smoothie in his hand. He returned to Yomotsu and the cart.

"I got a Green Dream. Want to try the first sip, before I drink it?" Yuri offered.

Yomotsu still led the cart from the front, by gently dragging it behind him. He looked at Yuri curiously out of the corner of his eye and said, "But then you'd be drinking out of something I drank out of… and what if you don't like it at all?"

Yuri smirked. "There's no reason to worry about me not liking it. If I dislike it, I will suffer willingly through it." He then shrugged. "And as for you drinking out of it first… I'm really not that concerned. Just take a quick sip, and no harm will be done. But if you spit into the straw or something, _then_ I will destroy you."

Yomotsu chuckled and took the plastic cup from Yuri. With one hand he held it, and the other held the straw. He sipped it for a second before handing it over, swishing the drink in his mouth at the same time. Then, after glancing worriedly at Yuri, he swallowed what was in his mouth and then gasped for air.

"Absolutely wretched!" Exclaimed Yomotsu, perhaps a little too loudly. Some people in the store turned to look at them. "It tastes like dirt. That's less a Green Dream than a green scream. UGH."

Yuri eyed the drink once more and then sipped. He tasted what was in his mouth and swallowed, and while his mouth was still on the straw, he sipped some more. When he was finished with his two drinks, he shrugged once again. "Tastes like some pretty good dirt to me."

* * *

"uhhh…UGHEUGHACKghlu…"

Yomotsu's hand was clasping at his stomach. They had made their way through the bakery and through most of the grocery aisles, but now Yomotsu just had to take a breather. While one hand held on to his stomach, his other hand reached for some peanut butter and tossed behind him, into the cart.

"That Green Dream really didn't agree with you, did it?" Yuri asked, as much concerned as he was scientifically curious as to what could have been in this drink to affect him so much. "You only had _one_ sip."

"One sip of power is all it takes for the unjust to become corrupt," Yomotsu responded, with his pleading eyes aimed ahead. "But, I'll be fine… Let's just keep going… No turning back now. We finish this shopping trip! If you must leave me behind, Yuri, so be it!"

The other chuckled softly, and Yomotsu could guess so much as why—in so little time, he had given up on the formalities. Just a little over a week ago, he had addressed him exclusively as Mr. Petrov. Now both of them had settled on a first name basis. _"And if he thinks this means I'm letting my guard down," _Yomotsu thought to himself, in between the feelings of intense nausea, _"then all the better…"_

Yomotsu turned the corner and collided with someone: both of them let out a little exclamation and backed up a little. He immediately went down to pick up the items that had been dropped in the process, only to find that the other person was bent down as well and had already started beating him to the process.

"That's fine," she said. "I got this, I got this. Are you alright sir?"

Yomotsu stood up straight. He heard the girl rise again, this time with her objects in her hands. He could _hear_ the broken Pringles slide in the tube as she picked them up and set them back into the cart she had been unloading from.

"I am just fine, miss, but the Pringles!" He tensed up a little. "I absolutely must buy them from you."

"No, no, that's fine!"

"No, no! I will accept no other answer: I will reap what I have sown." He gestured for Yuri to come over with the cart. A case of broken ranch Pringles was tossed onto the heap, without so much as a word from Yuri.

"At least this way, they won't go to waste," the girl laughed nervously.

Yomotsu smiled. "Pringles are a thing that should never be thrown away."

"Right." The girl responded. "That just wouldn't do them justice. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah…" Yomotsu's smile expanded to his entire face. "I think I do!"

"Anyway… I think I gotta go to the back to get another case. Let me know if there's anything I can help you find."

Yomotsu heard the girl walk away, with her cart being pulled behind her. As soon as her presence left them, Yomotsu's sickness returned in full swing. Yuri pushed their own cart forward, nudging him, which did not help his already weak balance and awareness of what was going on around him. "Come on," he said. "Let's just keep going. Be careful, though. I don't want any more other unwanted junk food in the cart."

From the grocery aisles, they passed by the meat department and picked up a full freezer's worth of frozen goods, from microwavable pizzas to frozen fruits and vegetables to, of course, pizzas. The time went by very quickly: soon, they were approaching the checkout counters. All but one was lit up, and all but one of those lit up was full—they locked in immediately on a lane whose customer just finished paying and was taking away her full cart.

"Hello. Did you find everything alright today?"

It was the voice of a young man. Yomotsu ascertained, through his super-hearing, that the young man also had brown hair and brown eyes, and wore his green polo with the top two buttons unbuttoned.

"Yes, we did," Yomotsu said, helping Yuri unload onto the moving belt. He still tasted Green Dream in his mouth.

"Great. Would you be interested in applying for a ChampiYum Card today and save 4% on all future transactions over $20.00?"

Yuri quickly answered, in a tone that allowed no further comment or inquiry, "No."

Yomotsu heard the beeping of the till as the first few items were scanned. They had decided to lump the groceries into one bill, which Yuri would pay, and then Yomotsu would pay exactly half. This seemed the fairest method, since already in this week they determined that neither ate excessively more than the other, and they planned on using the groceries indiscriminately.

"How much do you think we spent?" Yuri whispered. "I'm thinking $78.60."

Yuri considered it. "That's an oddly specific number," he answered, looking toward Yomotsu, thoughtfully. "Which means, either you're doing that to try and throw me off, or you're likely spot on. Hmm." He paused and grabbed a bunch of Skor bars and dropped them onto the belt. "I will go with a clean $90.00."

Yomotsu scratched his head. "Why would you get _those_? If you're going to try to mess this up, at least put something edible on the belt…"

"I really enjoy Skor bars," Yuri responded, quickly. "And shhh, he's about to announce the total."

Yomotsu was about to start up how that was impossible, since they had just put the items on the belt, but sure enough, the young man spoke up after the last beep.

"Your total today is $84.30."

Yuri and Yomotsu were silent for a moment, each trying to figure out who was closer. Then, finally, Yuri realized that they were just going to hold up the line that was already starting behind them, and began to write out the check.

"I'm sorry," the young man said. "We no longer accept checks."

"Oh," Yuri said to himself. He put the checkbook away and slid his card, a little grudgingly—he really enjoyed signing things on paper. His fancy signature looked much better on a check than on this touchpad.

The transaction went through, and the receipt printed and was handed off to Yuri. "Thank you for shopping at Yum Yums," the young man said, concluding the business.

"Certainly…" Yuri muttered, eyeing the cashier's nametag. "Thanks, Luke."

They returned to the vehicle, Yomotsu pushing the car this time, and unloaded into the backseat. They were just barely able to contain it all in the back, which impressed Yuri all the more and led him to believe that, perhaps, Yomotsu was a grocery shopping expert, when he was not charging into employees.

"Luke didn't bag the groceries very well," Yuri remarked, as he stood there still, with the door open. Yomotsu had been on his way to return the cart, but he paused to hear out Yuri's concern.

"What do you mean?" Yomotsu asked. "I thought he did a great job. He was so quick, too. That was some excellent service."

"No, he was quick," Yuri responded. "Perhaps _too_ quick. He didn't put the apples in with the other produce. I'll have to dig through the other bags just to find them."

Yomotsu raised his eyebrow curiously. "Maybe you just didn't get apples," he proposed.

Yuri chuckled a little. "Don't you _remember_ me putting them in the cart?"

"I certainly do not remember that," Yomotsu responded slowly. "But I could be wrong!"

"Well, let me just check the receipt to make sure he rang them up," Yuri concluded, most decidedly. Yomotsu went to put the cart back, and when he returned, he found Yuri rereading the receipt frantically. "There are no apples on here!" He looked towards Yomotsu. "I _know_ I grabbed apples!"

"I'm sure you did," Yomotsu responded.

"_Seriously_."

"I believe you, Yuri. I believe you." He took a deep breath and smiled. "Let's get going. We've got work to do when we get home." Yomotsu, who was now on the other side of the vehicle, held up two applications over it, so they were within the other's view.

Yuri, standing with the door open, asked the obvious questions, "W-when did you…? Why here?" He sat down and closed the door. As Yuri started the vehicle, Yomotsu responded.

"Groceries don't pay for them-them… ohgosh… UUUGHHHH… YURI… please tell me there's a bag in here I can… uuuuuuughhhhHGGHLUUU—"


	8. Waterfall, Fire Rising

Chapter 8 – Waterfall / Fire Rising

While driving back, Yuri found his thoughts settling on the grey clouds above. When they went in the store it had been sunny, but just as it felt within him that a lot had transpired while they were grocery shopping, so too had a lot transpired outside. He could not well place where this perception was coming from, yet he it came all the same: their trip to Yum-Yums was a precursor of sorts, either an axis point upon which their lives were about to spin, or the surface about which they would spin over.

Olivia Walkins was going to save them. This he knew to be logically without context and foundation, but he felt as though there was something about her that could be trusted. Certain people, he reflected when they reached a red light, had such great souls (or perhaps just such thin skin) that their character was transparent and appearing right on the surface of their faces in the tone of their voices. This was not to say he had Ms. Olivia figured out, by any means, but that something deeper than the surface level questions and ambiguities had been derived from their simple encounter. He did not realize this right away, but like the moisture in the air, this sense was thick in him.

Yuri recalled, in particular, the young woman he had been dating during his later university years, the one who belonged to the family of vintners, with whom he had drank his first glass of wine. She was such a character, whose mind and heart were easily found. It was in the mysteries that yet remained that Yuri found his curious interest in her. The good girl who was always serious, who trusted her personal entertainment only with a few—the girl who spent her time helping out others instead of letting herself be helped. She was everywhere for everyone but herself, and for herself, she had the awkward yet elegant Yuri Petrov.

They met when the young woman had the misfortune of misplacing her keys. He found her under the rain, searching her purse along the sidewalk.

"Thanks," she said, quickly, after he had pulled her under his umbrella and had found the keys ten minutes later. "Mr.—?"

"Yuri Petrov," he answered.

She nodded and smiled at him, and he had no real expression.

"I'm Vidalia." She was quick to extend her hand.

He took it. "Like the onion?" He smirked.

"Yeah, like the onion. Haha."

"Are you going to make me carry all the groceries in, or…?"

Yuri shut the car off and proceeded to the backseat, grabbing a few bags by the plastic loops. He looked over at Yomotsu, who was taking from the passenger side dedicatedly. He did not seem to be quite like Vidalia. He was not quite like an onion—an onion, it is true, has many layers, but each layer is of the same essence. Its outside is easily peeled away, and what is true on the out, is true on the in. Such was Vidalia, whose intimacies were of the same character of her business relationships, just of a different potency.

Yomotsu, however, was a curiosity to Yuri. He could not shake the feeling that there was more to this man than what appeared immediately, that within this man, there was more than just some delusional unemployed man in his thirties. Yuri wondered whether he was just overestimating Yomotsu, and all there really was on the surface, that he was judging not Yomotsu's character _but his own_.

Regardless, the put away groceries. That is a safe thing to do, even when the person you are unloading groceries with could be your worst enemy or future destroyer. There was no serious attachment in that. Yuri was glad Yomotsu was blind, even if just for a moment; this way, he would never know how much he found himself looking at the man and studying him and scrutinizing him and questioning him in his thoughts.

The reports had come to Yuri's attention just a few months prior. Consistent reports of a vigilante crime fighter who called himself a "hero of justice" in the small town of Graceville. For so long, Sternbild had been the hub of heroes, and now from somewhere else on the globe there was the surfacing of a hero who, with no connection to those with NEXT powers, was acting not on corporate sponsorship but on a self-described dedication to "true justice."

His investigation could only go so far in Sternbild, and so he set off to Graceville. It so happened that his prime suspect as the real identity of "the 12th" was looking for a roommate. What he found in Yomotsu, however, was something far from his expectations. Instead of hero that might impress even him, he found someone even more pathetic than the likes of the heroes back home. The only difference he saw, aside from competency, was that Yomotsu was more jeered at than celebrated. The newspaper article that surfaced about the 12th's capturing of Wi-Fi Man referred to him as "public nuisance #2," second only to the troublemakers he took down. He was no hero, Yuri now realized—he was merely a fool for justice, an adherent to an inferior and weak code.

"That was very successful!" Yomotsu rubbed his hands together and looked toward Yuri. "But I don't think I can wait any longer—I _must_ show you your new downstairs area!"

It took a few seconds for Yuri to figure out what he was referring to. "Oh." He smiled a little. Better to act. "Sure. I'm excited, too."

Yomotsu lifted his hands in the air and let out a squeal. "At last!" He then rushed past Yuri, darted out of the kitchen and through the living room. A door, which had been kept shut, was in the hallway, opposite the bathroom door and a short ways before the spare bedroom. Yomotsu opened the door and, with a slight bow, gestured for Yuri to go first.

The latter did so, to be polite, and found that there was no need for a light while descending the stairs. A soft blue glow was coming from somewhere below, illuminating the way. "Of course, you don't have to keep it this way," Yomotsu parenthetically added, as he crept from behind. "And if it's a hassle, I'll just make it bare again… it'll just take another week or so, but it can be done!"

Yuri chuckled a little. "I'm sure it'll be fine…" He reached the bottom of the stairs.

A grand master bed sat in the leftmost corner of the room, fitted with a silk bedspread that was black on the outside and a light green on the other. Similarly, the pillows were reversible with the same colors present on the outside and inside. Next to the bed was a coat rack, which had a long white robe suspending from it, previously not part of Yuri's belongings. The initial "Y" was present on one side, with the initial "P" present on the other, both in light green lettering.

A round, glass table sat a short distance from the bed, towards the center of the room. Extension cords allowed for this to be a hub for various electronic devices to sit. Yuri immediately thought of using his laptop there, and to his bewildered amusement, had resting on it a glass of wine under a coaster (which, conveniently was designed after the likeness of the 12th's mask). Within direct view from the table, on the same back wall on which the backboard of the bed was resting, there was a large screen suspended to the wall. A remote sat next to the wine glass.

The source of the blue light was also uncovered: the perimeter of the ceiling featured little lights that resembled Christmas lights, yet bore no holiday seasonality and gave off a soft and calming blue hue. Against the walls, around the floor, there were more of the same lights, which right now were off—now Yuri noticed another remote on the glass table. It was simpler in design and featured two dials, which could adjust the brightness of the lights on the ceiling and the lights on the floor independently, depending on the desired mood.

A giant glass case took up the rightmost wall, inside which flowed from the top down a waterfall of sorts. A scenic, forest background, with an ever-flowing artificial waterfall coming out from an inside rock structure. The waterfall was in the center of the glass, wherein the water silently spiraled into a drain, to be sucked up and reused in the waterfall. It was something Yuri had never before seen, which his eyes rested on for the longest time.

From that middle glass table, there was an elegant bed and comfortable looking bed already furnished for him to the left; a large screen opposite the stairs; an artificial waterfall to his right; and blue lights wherever he wished them to be on. Three chairs were around the glass chair, and aside from this, there was also a dresser on the same wall the door opened into, a short distance to the left, almost opposite the foot of the bed. On the other side of the door, there was a tall wardrobe.

"Yomotsu…" Yuri half-whispered. "This is incredible…"

Yomotsu tilted his head slightly and scratched behind his ear. "Again, if there's anything you want me to change, I can…"

"It's perfect." Yuri hushed him. He went to the table and ran his fingers along its surface, as he strolled around it. "You did not have to do this… What if I do not decide to stay here long? What if I up and leave, after you did all this?"

Yomotsu stepped further into the room, and his body was lit by the blue. "If you're going to be here for any length at all, better that you enjoy your time here," he answered. "If you stay for a short while, then you are my guest. And it is the right thing to ensure that your guest enjoys his time. That's hospitality. And if you stay longer than a short while, then you'll return whatever I invest in you, and none of it will be for nothing at all."

Yuri looked into the glass. "Yeah." He looked towards Yomotsu. "If you don't mind, I'd like some time alone…"

Yomotsu froze for a moment and then, loosening a bit, responded with a dull, "oh." He then, turning, let his arms dangle in front of his body and his back bend forward a little. "I'll be upstairs, if you need anything."

Yomotsu could be heard going up the stairs when, halfway, Yuri said, "Thank you."

No response came, just a smile.

At some point in the night, Yuri had resurfaced to grab his belongings from the spare bedroom and some food. Yomotsu had heard the noise from outside of his room, through his closed door.

Yomotsu did not have any stirrings of hunger until hours later, after he finished what he had been working on: a continued background check into Mr. Yuri Petrov, through all of the records he could access and safely crack into. It came up with the same old leads about his father, but no new useful information was gleaned.

Apparently he had dated a girl named Vidalia, like the onion, who committed suicide within a year of when he had proof of their relations. However, there was nothing more on that relationship that he could glean from the screen: all he had as evidence was this picture that surfaced when digging up Yuri Petrov's university years, of him and Vidalia, raising a glass together and earning the title of "cutest couple" of a certain week of the college's newspaper publication. Every other mention of Petrov was purely academic, and Vidalia herself had little tangible to hold onto, other than her face, name, and death.

Ironically, it was some sweet onion and brown rice Triscuits that he would snack on while his pasta reached _al dente_. He hoped the pasta would override the remnants of the Green Dream in his system. Since getting home, the ill feelings came back strong. At first, he thought staying still in his room might allow his system to adjust, but then he figured food might be just what he needed.

It was not. He had to put most of the pasta back in the fridge, for later. Even Spaghetti could not cure him. If eating did not work, he figured there was another option: exercise. He grabbed a light jacket, for the wind was a bit chilly and there was a chance for rain, and headed out the door.

The grey sky earlier had darkened and soured as the night progressed, yet still no rain had fallen. It was through an uncomfortable state of suspension that Yomotsu walked. The streetlights seemed brighter than usual on a night like this, but it could have been less about the weather and more about how much more appreciated they were after their temporary absence. He could not see the bright lights, but he could feel their warmth, now that they were back. Wi-Fi Man was not able to plunge the city into darkness, and that gave Yomotsu some satisfaction.

"And Yuri really seemed to enjoy his new home," Yomotsu told himself. "Even if…"

Yomotsu thought he heard something behind him, and so he stopped still. Several cars passed by him, and then he continued uninterrupted.

"Even if, he doesn't know that I'll be watching him through the screen…"

There was another sound, and this time Yomotsu turned around. Had he vision, he would have witnessed a shadow dart quickly past his view, before settling behind a streetlight.

"Is someone there?" Yomotsu asked. Then, shortly after he asked this question, he found himself bending forward, his face contorted by a shooting pain—not caused by any figure in the night, but by the malady inside his body. "Ughhh… Green Dream…"

He was suddenly lifted back up by a gloved hand at the back of his neck.

"Yuri Petrov… Can we believe in him?"

Yomotsu, trying to hold himself back from vomiting, asked weakly after a moment, "Wh-whaat?"

"There is a fire rising!"

The figure slammed Yomotsu forward, driving his face straight into the concrete. He felt a knee press into his back, holding him in place. The voice continued, "The darkest night has found you, Yomotsu Hirasaka. I have been following you, investigating you, and tracking down your exploits as the 12th. I admit, you're good."

He paused. "But you're not good enough. You're the hero that Graceville could use, but you're not the one it's going to get. That hero is me."

Yomotsu, reeling from his disorientation and then from being thrown violently to the ground, muttered confusedly, "Wh-who are you, again...?"

The figure sighed and pressed his knee deeper into his back. "I'm Batman!"

Yomotsu closed his eyes and, a little frustrated, responded, "No. I'm serious. Who are you?"

In a voice that made him seem even more ill than Yomotsu, the figure growled back, "I'm _Batman_! And I am here to offer Graceville back to its citizens!"

He would have shaken his head, if "Batman" had not decided to press his face into the concrete with his hand. Still, Yomotsu was able to respond in a dismissive tone, "You're not even quoting the movies right, and if you're really Batman, then you should stick with _just_ Batman's lines. I mean, at least—"

Yomotsu was not able to finish, because his attacker had hoisted him up and hurled him swiftly over his shoulder. His gut being pressed into by the man's plated shoulders, Yomotsu nearly spilled what was inside him, but remarkably remained composed enough to hear his captor speak a few words. Then, Yomotsu passed out of consciousness, being carried away by the man in a Batman suit and cape.

"And… here… we… depart…!"


	9. The Past, the Future (Part I)

Chapter 9 – The Past / The Future Part I

"Would you like to know how I received my scars?"

Yomotsu had revived some time before, but he had not been sure of it. Those words were the confirmation, a confirmation missing for a man whose state of consciousness could not be marked by seeing the real world. Dreams and sleep sometimes were so very similar to Yomotsu, for they occurred in the very same darkness in which he walked—and so the situation of him being tied to some sort of seat felt like just another conjuring of the mind, until the gruff voice reminded him of what had happened.

"My emotional scars, I mean. Physically, I'm pretty much soft as a baby's bottom."

Yomotsu realized that a bag had been secured over his head and, ironically, had been tied in place by a thin rope around his neck. It was like some mockery of his own Transformation Mask; only, instead of feeling empowered, he felt like the captive he was.

"I watched my parents get shot in front of me, after we left a concert. I was shuffled from orphanage to orphanage, until finally a kindly old man adopted me. He had watched his wife pass away just a few years before, and he wanted me to fill a void in his life. When he found out that a little child with needs could not replace the love of his life, he took it out on me. In little time, he was no physical threat to me. I grew stronger, and he grew weak. But when he tried to beat me, I could feel his anger, and I could see the emotion in his old eyes."

A little silence passed, before Yomotsu said, "I was orphaned as a child, as well." His voice was muffled a little by the bag. "Only, it took me far longer to leave the orphanage, and I have never had a stable, long term home. I have never had the face of my mother to conjure up when I am feeling sad. All I have is her voice, and even then, that is gets buried under the layers of new memories with each year. There were photographs of her taken, plenty of them, and I hear she was beautiful—but how will I ever know?"

Batman sighed. "One never knows the value of the past, until they reflect on who they've become."

Yomotsu tried to shuffle in his seat, but his squirming lacked results. He could not get comfortable in the slightest, but he figured, someone being kidnapped rarely felt too comfortable. Even now, Yomotsu was still in the early stages of evaluating the value of a past largely unknown to him. He had only one hope, and that was Miss Olivia Walkins. It was on her shoulders that so much had been placed. She promised him information, and she promised him housing—and all he could do in return, was give her a little company from time to time. What she gained from this deal, truly, he was not sure; what he was to gain, he had also not yet seen. All that cropped up were vague warnings that seemed to have no reference to the past or even the future.

"Can a man become a symbol?"

In this manner, the one called Batman gently slowed Yomotsu's thoughts to a pause. He now had the clarity of thought to realize that they were in a moving vehicle.

"If we put on a mask, we become a character. You see people in the streets, even in a small town like this one. All across the country I have walked, and all I see are people—and they all look the same. They all are walking around, held up by the symbols in their life and by their idols. They are so weak, however. Life is chaotic, and in the darkness, they thirst for one of their own to step up and face the injustices of the world on their behalf. Not just one among them can rise, however; it must be a man without a face, a man who is both every man and not a man at all. What they need is one great force for justice."

Yomotsu took a deep breath. "And so," he said quietly, "You kidnap a rival hero, thinking your actions are justified because you are bringing unity to an otherwise complicated world… But your evil deeds will not triumph, and no mask can hide your _real_ character!"

Suddenly, the vehicle came to a grinding halt. The caped crusader's breathing was loud and erratic. "T-there's a man, standing in the middle of the road!" The kidnapper unbuckled his seatbelt. "A-and—and it looks like he's on fire—!"

* * *

Yuri had been on his computer. His belongings had been emptied out of their suitcase and put away accordingly: his suits were hanging neatly in his wardrobe, various pieces of technology sat on top of a dresser now full of other clothing items and mementos, and the wall decorations were lit by the faint blue aura of the room.

None of the photos were of Vidalia. When he tried to think of her, the appearance was always a little muddled, but when the right situations arose—the blur went away, and he was haunted by vivid recollections. Now, as his eyes moved up from the laptop screen and towards the waterfall, he experienced what was less a full flashbulb memory than a distorted, grainy, half-muted recording.

The note had come in the mail on a beautiful day. When he saw that it was from Vidallia, he wanted to read it right away, but he was otherwise occupied with business he had to attend to first. The work went fast, when he knew that his reward would be a long awaited message from dear Vidalia, who had been away on a vacation with some of her friends for a month.

Yuri had been promised a full recount of their experiences, but he knew that this letter could be only a preview of that at most. In no way could Vidalia have summarized it all in something that could fit in a single envelope. He had an unexpected eagerness when he opened the letter, then, and that made the feeling through his body all the more cold when he put it down.

"When you see the rain, think of me."

Those were the words that would constantly nag at him. "Your Persephone, in dearest love, Vidallia" concluded the letter. He would read it a few times over, before reaching for the phone. It would ring before he would get to it, and on the phone would be Vidalia's friends. He barely knew them, but they were the people who would tell him the most important news of his entire life, the most personal of pains. Vidalia had written the letter to warn Yuri in advance, and already, she had jumped from the top of a waterfall.

The suicide never brought Yuri closer to her friends. He fled from them, rather. He avoided any contact with anything that was so absolutely connected to Vidalia, but her scent saturated his life for years on. "When you see the rain, think of me"—and so she had cursed him, to see her fall whenever he saw water drop from the sky. Vidalia, who had given him so much, who drank wine with him and filled his life with the womanly love his mother failed to provide—soon everything attributed to her was either cast out, or turned sour before him. Yuri now drank more, and he drank alone.

He looked back down on the computer screen. Up were all of the records he could find on Yomotsu. He was able to trace his exploits in Sakurami City and the articles detailing his strange appearance in Graceville, but he could find nothing about Yomotsu before he took on his identity as the 12th. The man appeared out of nowhere, and whatever past he might have had, it certainly was buried deep.

Yuri went upstairs, concluding the research as pointless. He opened the fridge and grabbed a can of grape Fanta. After cracking it open, he took a few sips—he was starting to become a fan of this carbonated beverage. It was no fine wine, but it still had some depth of flavor to it that he was just stepping into. He proceeded to the bathroom, set the can on the counter, and turned on the faucet.

Yuri cupped his hands below the stream of water in the sink and, for some time, watched it pour down. Then he brought his hands under the water and used his moist hands to wet his face. When he looked up, he saw a morose reflection. For some time, he just looked back at it, and let his thoughts drift into nothingness. It was like a state of sleep.

Then, when he went to dry his hands, he hit something with his arm and heard a little fizzing sound. It took him a few seconds to register that he had knocked over the can of grape Fanta, which was now spilling onto the soft white carpet. Yuri, wide-eyed, rushed to pick up the can and set it back up on the counter, this time further from the edge. Most of the liquid had emptied out of it already, and he could not help but freak out when he saw the massive stain-producing spill. A flashback then struck him while he was so utterly defenseless; he recalled how he imagined himself spilling the wine at Oliva Walkins' place. He brought his hand up to his forehead and realized, with dumb horror, that his forehead was the wettest part of his face.

With this foreboding sense lingering, Yuri rushed to Yomotsu's room. He needed to find out where he could find something in the house that could quickly help clean this up. He feared most of the damage had been done, but there was still some chance of lessening it. Yuri found that the door was open, to his surprise, and called out, "Yomotsu! Yomotsu!"

There was no response, and so, keeping himself still some distance from the door, called, "I just spilled grape Fanta on the carpet, and I need help—!"

He expected to hear a half-awake Yomotsu cry out, "YOU DID WHAAAT?" However, no such thing came from the room. There was just silence. Yuri worried about both the spill and about his housemate now and decided that privacy mattered little in a crisis like this. He peeked his head into the room—and saw that it was totally unoccupied.

Yomotsu was not in his room. As Yuri would soon discover, he was nowhere in the house. The home was scoured, and within it resounded Yuri's worried calls. After a while, the stain faded from importance, and Yuri was eyeing the front door. "He must have went for a walk," he theorized. "Or else, just like the other night, he is off in pursuit of another criminal…" Yuri approached the door. "But he is not even a NEXT… He had no powers, and he can't even see the threats that lurk in the darkness. He is a defenseless fool..." He reached to open the door, only to be reminded that the doorknob had been broken off when they first met. Yuri immediately found the nearest alternate way out of the house and began to carefully advance outside.

What he found on the sidewalk was a strange, sharp object that was in the crude likeness of a bat. From inside his suit's pocket, Yuri carefully fetched and put on a tight white glove, with which he picked up the piece of evidence. For the time being, he advanced his search for Yomotsu no further; he had a strong hunch that this would lead the way.

Sure enough, after analyzing the object with the technology he had brought with him to Graceville, Yuri was able to use the fingerprints on the object to identify its owner. Once he read up on the individual, there was no doubt in Yuri's mind that this person was related to Yuri's sudden disappearance. There was only one matter left to his attendance.

Yuri glanced towards a black trash bag still sitting on the floor. It was the only item he had brought that had not yet found a home. He looked on it sadly, but there was little doubt in his mind—this was necessary. There was still a purpose, albeit a revised one. He bent down and removed from the black plastic bag a colorful suit and mask.

"The cord of your future is about to be snipped short, Bryce Wayne," Yuri murmured, as he walked down the street. The end of his white cloak was burning blue and green. Underneath, he wore his old suit and bellbottom-styled pants. Yuri's face was concealed under a horrific mask. "The death of Thanatos was but a farce! Now we witness the rebirth of _true justice_ !"

Lunatic ascended.


	10. The Past, the Future (Part II)

Chapter 10 – The Past / The Future Part II

"The voice of Thanatos will cleanse you from your curse and send you down the path of atonement and rebirth!"

It was the speaker's voice, not Thanatos', that seized Yomotsu's attention. It's condemnation of his kidnapper was just as reassuring as it was frightening. The next sound he heard was that of the car door being ripped off and the Batman's scream.

"Wh-who are you!?" The kidnapper was so alarmed that he dropped his gruff, strong voice and had been reduced to a timid cry.

"I am a servant of true justice," Yomotsu's rescuer explained. "I am your punisher, called Lunatic."

All at once, Yomotsu's mind was sent into a whirl: he recalled reading about Lunatic, the murderer from Sternbild. He was a man whose code of justice commanded him to kill criminals, which earned him support by the people and ire by the city's heroes. It was reported that Wild Tiger and Barnaby Brooks had defeated him, but that Lunatic had chosen to take his own life rather than be captured by false heroes.

However, while the Batman he had encountered might have been a fake, he felt a great confidence within him that this was the real Lunatic. This further unsettled him; he loathed Lunatic's code of justice. Throughout the 12th's career, he had preferred apprehending criminals and delivering them to the police. Only as a last resort could killing the criminal be justified, and Lunatic's liberal murdering left a bad taste in Yomotsu's mouth. He considered nothing but a false justice. For a while, it troubled him that people seemed to support Lunatic's efforts in droves, but he remained largely ridiculed. This only confirmed his belief that the world truly was full of injustice and needed a _real_ righteous hero.

It was in this vein that within Yomotsu a determination arose. He heard the fighting that had ensued between Lunatic and Batman. Neither won Yomotsu's favor, but both the kidnapper and the murderer needed to be arrested. So long as they fought, the chance increased that one of them would be killed by the other—and it was clear which one would suffer and by whom.

With all this considered, it was a great and ironic fortune when Yomotsu found himself freed. The ropes that bound him to his seat had been lit aflame by Lunatic, and under the intense blue and green heat, the ropes turned to ash. The fire stopped short of burning Yomotsu. Not soon after, Lunatic was delivered a great punch by the Batman, who had seized his opponent's distracted state of mind.

Lunatic was quick to return fire, however—quite literally. Yomotsu heard him charge up his burning crossbow and utter his ultimate threat. "Bryce Wayne," Lunatic began, "Your efforts to decrease the population of heroes in the world has led you into the depths of sin. Prepare to be redeemed through the fire."

Yomotsu leapt out of the car.

"Not so fast, Lunatic!"

He garned the attention of both all at once. Yomotsu held his hands wide apart, with his palms out and his fingers tightly together. He was still wearing his white T-shirt with the red dot in the center, faded jeans, and sandals (but no socks!). A silence fell over the area, as Yomotsu stood dramatically before them, all three in the middle of the road.

"Your vile aims will be thwarted!" Yomotsu spun around, keeping his straight like solid beams. As he twirled, he made a noise that sounded something like "ka-chooooo!"

"You are going to help me, 12th?" The Batman asked, returning to his strong tone. "I never would have expected—"

Yomotsu stopped immediately, freezing in the middle of his next twirl. His body was facing the wrong way, but he moved his head so it was clear before them. "The 12th?" He repeated, slowly reconfiguring himself so he was before them. He waved his hands quickly. "No, no! You must be thinking of someone else! The only 12th I know is that glorious hero of justice, the shining righteousness of our age—and I'm not him, surely!"

Batman and Lunatic could have been seen looking at one another and then back at him, if Yomotsu could have witnessed their reaction. The next words came from Lunatic, who commanded, "You are free to live, Yomotsu. You are not the one being punished tonight. Do not interfere in this sinner's punishment."

Yomotsu laughed and then leapt into the air. He soared to a great height and, flipping in the air, landed between Lunatic and his prey. "A 'sinner' punishing another 'sinner'? The one who shall punish him are the keepers of the law, not imposter heroes of righteousness! I may not be the 12th—who is even more handsome than I am—but as a fellow servant of justice, I will not let you do this!"

Lunatic, with a great sigh, closed the distance between them. "Yomotsu, you _idiot_," he hissed. "Leave, befo—"

Yomotsu crashed his fist into Lunatic's chest and, while his opponent was disoriented and in shock, seized his head with both hands and slammed it down against his knee. It was nearly enough to crack the mask. Yomotsu then delivered a roundhouse kick that sent Lunatic to the ground.

Yomotsu assumed a fighting stance and, with bold courage, rushed forward. Even as Lunatic was rising to his feet and regaining his senses, Yomotsu released upon his body a flurry of punches and shouted in accordance with each impact, "Ta-da-da-da!"

This was going quiet well until, interrupting the blows, Yomotsu found his throat being seized by Lunatic. The grasp was not tight enough to dangerously constrict airflow, but it was enough to get a point across. Lunatic maintained the hold and forced him to the ground. Lunatic pressed his knee down on Yomotsu's stomach.

"I need you to _stay out of this_," Lunatic growled. "May I remind you that anything can be cleaned—except for a dirty criminal. What cannot be cleaned must be thrown out."

Yomotsu saw the truth. The words were vivid evidence and, with Lunatic hovering over him, staring him down with his judging eyes, Yomotsu whispered, "Y-Yuri? Yuri, you're Lunatic…"

He recalled their conversation, the first day they met. That was only nine days ago, but a lot had happened since then. They had watched Power Rangers and talked about pajamas and drank hot chocolate and even went to the grocery store. A lot had happened, and yet, nothing had happened at all. Even as Lunatic's voice had a far more menacing tone than that of the Yuri Petrov that Yomotsu had come to know, his words were unmistakable. Now the connections were being brought to the surface.

"Whatever you were like in the past," Yomotsu continued quietly. "Whatever evil things you did… You can still turn that around, and become truly righteous. What you are doing now isn't justice. Rather, you're creating a hell within your mind. It is like you're trying to find out what color you'll burn, and how big the flames will be. You're afraid that if the fire dies, you will find that there is nothing left—but what are you trying to prove?"

* * *

Lunatic said nothing. He then rose, allowing Yomotsu to do the same, and walked past him. Wayne had begun to run away by this point, knowing that once again he was within the vigilante's vision. Without saying another word, Lunatic shot forward and, steadily lifting off the ground, grabbed Bryce Wayne on his way into the sky.

The man did not the resist. He was now being carried high above Graceville, over its various houses and closed businesses. Neither said a word, and for some time, only the wind filled their ears. Then Yuri spoke.

"I understand killing criminals," he began. "But after all you went through, why would you kidnap and kill other heroes? All of these other small-time heroes, throughout the country, have had their disappearances attributed to you… Why do you do it?" He wanted to be justified for killing the man, for dropping him to his oblivion or even lighting him on fire while he still held him up.

Wayne responded, however, "I have never killed anyone." He paused. "I have had to resort to kidnapping, yes, but that is only the initial cause of the heroes' disappearance… They stay missing, because they _want_ to be missing. Have you also noticed that, despite the disappearance of the heroes, the crime rates in their home cities has not increased? There's a lot going on underneath the surface. Something is happening, something I am still trying to understand. Criminals are dying at a faster rate, and the world is seemingly becoming safer."

"But I have my doubts," he continued. "I think that the small criminals are reducing in number, but even greater evils are about to arise in the world. Small pests go into hiding when a great predator is on the loose. I have been gathering heroes from all across the country in preparation. I have been trying to form a league of superheroes, bound by justice and united to form a great symbol of courage. I was inspired by the heroes of Sternbild, and I believe something even greater can happen here."

Lunatic had been silenced by surprise.

"And I have not gone this far to be killed by a villain such as you," Wayne said, in a different tone. "I may not be the real Batman, but if I can borrow his courage, I can inspire at least one person… And that's all that matters, really, is the symbolic hope that a hero holds up. We will not always succeed or even live, but righteousness always wins in the end. Farewell."

Wayne struggled out of Lunatic's grasp and descended silently and quickly, into the great blue depths of the river they had been flying above. During the fall, his cape rose, and for a moment, he truly did look like the real thing. Then he disappeared into the water, and for some time, Lunatic watched the still surface. He waited for a figure to rise, but nothing stirred. He waited for the hero's hope to spring up, but he knew that it was something of another nature, that rose up only from within.

To one accustomed to the darkness, the sight of a glimmer of light is a strange thing: it can appear totally unrecognizable. "That might be the light," the person might say, but one does not know. All one knows is that it is different from the darkness he is accustomed to, and the purity and classification of the unknown substance remains to be explored. Such was the darkness from which Yuri rose. Out of the depths of the past, the hero within Yuri Petrov emerged from the waters. Now it was Lunatic who needed to be redeemed through the fire.

Yuri would return and find Yomotsu. The truth about the matter would be discussed on both sides. Yuri would confess that he came to Graceville to investigate the strange nocturnal crimefighter called the 12th, whom he suspected Yomotsu to be. On the other's part, Yomotsu explained an even more spectacular aim.

"I have what is called the Justice Diary," he confessed. He showed the voice recorder to Yuri. "It tells me when I will be next fulfill an act of justice. Recently, it told me that I would soon be victorious over a great evildoer in Graceville. I dropped everything and came here, and since then, I have been taking down every criminal I have come across. My Diary, however, has no changed. My Diary has not updated, meaning I still have not defeated the real evil. I am dedicated to remain here until the Justice Diary instructs me otherwise. I thought that you were the great evil, and as Lunatic, you matched up, but…"

"But?" Yuri was quiet.

"But I no longer believe you are evil, and if you are the one I am meant to defeat, I do not want to." He looked away. "A hero of justice is always misunderstood and lonely… And even though it has been only a short period of time, I trust you and think you might be the only true friend I've ever had."

They were sitting on the couch. It was dark, but a pale morning light came in through the window. It was likely 6am, or somewhere thereabouts. Yuri let the quiet persist, until he offered, "Then let's find the real evil and stop it, together. Unless your Diary forbid you from teaming up with another, I want to help. I owe it to you, for investigating you the way I did. Also, if this is such a great evil, then I want to play a part in stopping it, as well… One working alone can't always be trusted to complete such a difficult task."

Yomotsu nodded and smiled. It was then that they teamed up, in late June. For the next four months, Yuri and Yomotsu would combat a rising criminal force in Graceville and would be recognized by local and national media. The reappearance of Lunatic would prompt speculation and questions across borders, and the heroes of Sternbild refused to comment. A powerful symbol of justice had emerged in the United States, but it took a different form. These were not homegrown, amateur heroes. No, the symbol of justice that emerged took the form of Lunatic and the 12th, two foreign men with a zeal for stopping evil whenever it so willed itself to appear.

Sometime later, Yomotsu asked Yuri about what happened to Bryce Wayne. Yuri said, frankly, that he did not know. He liked to believe that the man had survived the fall, but he could not confirm it. The man and his rumored league had not resurfaced in Graceville or made any attempts to contact them. Privately, Yuri dreamed that Bryce Wayne was watching their progress and was leaving Graceville up to them for a reason, that he knew they could handle it themselves.

"But who was he, really?" Yomotsu asked.

Yuri smiled and had to answer, "He's Batman."

* * *

A notebook sat on the desk. On the page, the latest entry read:

"Bryce Wayne Falls to his death at 12:00 am, June 23rd."

Pages had passed since that entry, four months ago. A lot happened in the meantime. It was enough to raise a few questions.

"Lunatic and 12th… Are they destined to go with me into the new world, or should they be extinguished? They've started a fire in my field. What do you think we should do, Ryuk?"

END OF PART ONE


End file.
